LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 


PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    Kil  iani 


BCSB  LIBRARIC 


U 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arciiive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.arcliive.org/details/bywaysofeuropeliaOOtayliala 


^S  OF  E 


IN 


B/^2^HD  T^SLOR 


'•'  'V^T/*:^r>^^ 


)El&ora&o  BSition 


THE  WORKS 


OF 


BAYARD    TAYLOR 


VOLUME  V 


BY-WAYS   OF    EUROPE 
HANNAH  THURSTON 


'f 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

M:\V   YORK  LONDON 

87    WEST    TWKNTS  -  IlIIKL)    ^IKI-.I:!'  24    BEDFORD    STREET,    STRAND 

tin   iiiiichrrboclut  ^ttss 


BY-WAYS    OF    EUROPE 


BAYARD    TAYLOR 


AUTHOR  S  RKVISED  EDITION 


Sitered  Mcordiog'  to  Act  of  CongreM,  in  the  year  18QB,  ^ 
Q    P.  Putnam  ajo  Son, 
tbs  Ctrrk'i  OflSce  of  the  Dutrict  Court  for  :lie  Southern  District  of  N«w  York 


DEDICATED 
TO    MY    FRIEND    OF   MANY    YF.ARS 

HORACE  GREELEY 


CONTENTS. 


A  FAmLiAR  Letter  to  the  Seadbb     .       .               .       ,       ,  7 

A  Okuise  on  Lake  Ladoga         •'...,.  ai 

Bktwekn  Europe  and  Asia .59 

Winter- Life  in  St.  Petersburg        ......  35 

The  Little  Land  of  Appenzell   .        .        ,        ,                        ,  113 

From  Perpignan  to  Montserrat I45 

Balearic  Days,  I 171 

Balearic  Days,  II ,  297 

Catalonian  Kridle-Roads .        ,  227 

The  Republic  of  the  Pyrenees        ...                        .  259 

The  Grande  Chartreuse        .        ,        .        .                ...  298 

The   KYFtHAUSER   AND   ITS  LEGENDS    ......  807 

A  Week  on  Capri     ..........  835 

A  Trip  to  Ischia           365 

The  Land  of  Paoli 391 

The  Island  of   Maddalena  ;  with  a  Distant  View  of   Ca- 

PF£RA 419 

Iv  TH>  Teutoburgbr  Forest  .       .               ....  A49 


A  FAxMILIAR   LEITER  TO  THE  READER. 


Whoever  you  may  be,  my  friendly  reader,  —  whether  1 
may  assume  the  footing  of  familiar  acquaintance  which 
comes  of  your  having  read  my  former  books  of  travel,  or 
whether  we  stand  for  the  first  time  face  to  face,  self  intro- 
duced to  each  other,  and  uncertain,  as  yet,  how  we  shall 
get  on  together,  —  will  you  let  me  take  you  by  the  button- 
hole and  tell  you  some  things  which  must  be  said  now,  if 
at  all? 

This  is  probably  the  last  volume  of  travels  which  I  shall 
ever  publish.  It  closes  a  series  of  personal  and  literary 
experiences  which  cannot  be  renewed,  and  which  I  have 
no  belief  will  be  extended.  Now,  therefore,  all  that  I 
have  done  as  a  traveller  detaches  itself  from  my  other 
labors,  lies  clear  behind  me  as  a  life  by  itself,  and  may 
be  considered  with  a  degree  of  self-criticism  which  was 
scarcely  possible  while  it  lay  nearer.  The  brief  review 
which  I  desire  to  make,  must  necessarily  be  autobiograph- 
ical in  its  character,  and  I  am  aware  that  this  is  question- 
able ground.  But  as  I  have  been  specially  styled,  for  so 
many  years  and  little  to  my  own  satisfaction,  "a  traveller" 
or  "a  tourist,"  and  in  either  character  have  received  praise 
aud  blame,  equally  founded  on  a  misconception  of  the 
facts  and  hopes  of  my  life,  I  claim  the  privilege,  this  once, 
to  set  the  truth  before  those  who  may  care  to  hear  it 

Only  one  of  two  courses  is  open  to  an  author :  either 
to  assume  a  dignified  reserve,  as  who  should  say  to  his 
reader,  "  There  is  my  book  —  it  is  all  that  concerns  you  — 
1 


8  A    FAMILIAR    LETTER   TO    THE   READER. 

how  or  why  it  was  written  is  my  own  secret;"  or,  to  tak« 
the  reader  frankly  into  his  confidence,  and  brave  the  ready 
charge  of  vanity  or  over-estimation  of  self,  by  the  free 
communication  of  his  message.  Generally,  the  latter  course 
is  only  to  anticipate  the  approval  which  is  sure  to  come  in 
the  end,  "f  there  is  any  vitality  in  an  author's  work.  To 
most  critiv'.s  the  personal  gossip  of  an  acknowledged  name  is 
delightful :  posthumous  confidences  also  somehow  lose  the 
air  of  assertion  which  one  finds  in  the  living  man.  Death, 
or  that  fixed  renown  which  rarely  comes  during  life,  sets 
aside  tiie  conventionalities  of  literature;  and  the  very  mod- 
esty and  reticence  which  are  supposed  to  be  a  part  of 
them  then  become  matters  of  regret.  So  there  are  tran- 
gitions  in  life  which  seem  posthumous  to  its  preceding  phases, 
and  the  present  self  looks  upon  the  past  as  akin,  indeed, 
but  not  identical. 

During  the  past  twenty-two  years  I  have  written  and 
published  ten  volumes  of  travel,  which  have  been  exten- 
sively read,  and  are  still  read  by  newer  classes  of  readers. 
Whatever  may  be  the  quality  or  value  of  those  works,  I 
may  certainly  assume  that  they  possess  an  interest  of  some 
kind,  and  that  the  reader  whom  I  so  often  meet,  who  has 
followed  nie  from  first  to  last  (a  fidelity  which,  I  must  con- 
fess, is  always  grateful  and  always  surprising),  will  not  ob- 
ject if,  now,  in  (dferingjiim  this  eleventh  and  final  volume, 
I  suspend  my  role  of  observer  long  enough  to  relate  how 
the  series  came  to  be  written. 

The  cause  of  my  having  travelled  so  extensively  has 
been  due  to  a  succession  of  circumstances,  of  a  character 
more  or  less  accidental.  My  prolonged  wanderings  formed 
no  part  of  my  youthful  programme  of  life.  I  cannot  dis- 
connect my  early  longings  for  a  knowledge  of  the  Old 
World  from  a  still  earlier  passion  for  Art  and  Literature. 
To  the  latter  was  added  a  propensity,  which  I  have  never 
unlearned,  of  acquiring  as  much  knowledge  as  possible 
through  the  medium  of  my  own  experience  rathci  than  to 


A  FAMILIAR   LETTER   TO  'iHE  READER.  9 

accept  it,  unquestioned,  from  anybody  else.  When  I  first 
set  out  for  Europe  I  was  still  a  boy,  and  less  acquainted 
with  life  than  most  boys  of  my  age.  I  was  driven  to  the 
venture  by  the  strong  necessity  of  providing  for  myself 
sources  of  education  which,  situated  as  I  was,  could  not  be 
reached  at  home.  In  other  words,  the  journey  oflFered  me 
a  chance  of  working  my  way. 

At  that  time,  Europe  was  not  the  familiar  neighbor-con- 
tinent which  it  has  since  become.  The  merest  superficial 
letters,  describing  cities,  scenery,  and  the  details  of  travel, 
were  welcome  to  a  very  large  class  of  readers,  and  the  nar- 
rative of  a  youth  of  nineteen,  plodding  a-foot  over  the  Old 
World,  met  with  an  acceptance  which  would  have  been 
impossible  ten  years  later.  I  am  fully  aware  how  little 
literary  merit  that  narrative  possesses.  It  is  the  work  of  a 
boy  who  was  trying  to  learn  something,  but  with  a  very  faint 
idea  of  the  proper  method  or  discipline ;  who  had  an  im- 
mense capacity  for  wonder  and  enjoyment,  but  not  much 
power,  as  yet,  to  discriminate  between  the  important  and 
the  trivial,  the  true  and  the  false.  Perhaps  the  want  of 
development  which  the  book  betrays  makes  it  attractive 
to  those  passing  through  the  same  phase  of  mental  growth. 
I  cannot  otherwise  account  for  its  continued  vitality. 

Having  been  led,  after  returning  home,  into  the  profes- 
sion of  journalism,  the  prospect  of  further  travel  seemed 
very  remote.  I  felt,  it  is  true,  that  a  visit  to  Greece,  Egypt, 
and  Syria  was  desirable  in  order  to  complete  my  acquain- 
tance with  the  lands  richest  in  the  history  of  civilization ; 
and  I  would  have  been  quite  willing  to  relinquish  all  chance 
of  seeing  more  of  the  world,  had  that  much  been  assured 
to  me.  I  looked  forward  to  years  of  steady  labor  as  a 
servant  of  the  Press ;  but,  being  a  servant,  and  by  neces- 
sity an  obedient  one,  I  was  presently  sent  forth,  in  the  line 
of  my  duty,  to  fresh  wanderings.  The  "  New  York  Tribune  " 
required  a  special  correspondent  in  California,  in  1849 
and  the  choice  of  its  editor  fell  upon  me.    After  performing 


10  A  FAMILIAl    LETTER   TO  THE   READER. 

the  stipulated  service  I  returned  by  way  of  Mexico,  111 
order  to  make  the  best  practicable  use  of  my  time.  Thus, 
and  not  from  any  roving  propensity,  originated  my  second 
journey. 

When,  two  years  later,  a  change  of  scene  and  of  occu- 
pation became  imperative,  from  the  action  of  causes  quite 
external  to  my  own  plans  and  hopes,  my  first  thought 
naturally,  was  to  complete  my  imperfect  scheme  of  travel 
by  a  journey  to  Egypt  and  the  Orient.  I  was,  moreover, 
threatened  with  an  affection  of  the  throat,  for  which  the 
climate  of  Africa  offered  a  sure  remedy.  The  journey  was 
simply  a  change  of  position,  from  assistant-editor  to  corres- 
pondent, enabling  me  to  obtain  the  strength  which  I  sought, 
without  giving  up  the  service  on  which  I  relied  for  support. 
How  it  came  to  be  extended  to  Central  Africa  is  partly 
explained  by  the  obvious  advantage  of  writing  from  a  new 
and  but  partially  explored  field ;  but  there  were  other  influ- 
ences acting  upon  me  which  I  did  not  fully  comprehend 
at  the  time,  and  cannot  now  describe  without  going  too 
deeply  into  matters  of  pivvate  history.  I  obeyed  an  in- 
stinct, rather  than  followed  a  conscious  plan. 

After  having  completed  my  African  journeys,  I  traversed 
Palestine,  Syria,  and  Asia  Minor,  and  finally  reached  Con- 
stantinople, intending  to  return  homewards  through  Europe. 
There,  however,  I  found  letrters  from  my  associates  of  *'  The 
Tribune,"  insisting  that  I  should  proceed  speedily  to  China, 
for  the  purpose  of  attaching  myself  to  the  American  Ex- 
pedition to  Japan,  under  Commodore  Perry.  I  cannot  say 
that  the  offer  was  welcome,  yet  its  conditions  were  such 
that  I  could  not  well  refuse,  and,  besides,  I  had  then  no 
plan  of  my  own  of  sufficient  importance  to  oppose  to  it. 
The  circumstances  of  my  life  made  me  indifferent,  so  long 
as  the  service  required  was  not  exactly  distasteful,  and  in 
this  mood  I  accepted  the  proposition.  Eight  month*  still 
•ntervened  before  the  squadron  could  reach  China,  and  1 
determined  *,o  turn  the  time  to  good  advantage,  by  includ- 


A   FAMILIAR    LETTER    TO   THE   READER.  X\ 

hag  Spain  and  India  in  the  outward  journey.  Thus  the 
travel  of  one  year  was  extended  to  two  and  a  half,  and 
instead  of  the  one  volume  which  I  had  premeditated,  I 
brought  home  the  material  for  three. 

It  would  be  strange  if  an  experience  so  prolonged  should 
not  sensibly  change  the  bent  of  an  author's  mind.  It  was 
not  the  sphere  of  activity  which  I  should  have  chosen,  had 
I  been  free  to  choose,  but  it  was  a  grateful  release  from 
the  drudgery  of  the  editorial  room.  After  three  years  of 
clipping  and  pasting,  and  the  daily  arrangement  of  a  chaos 
of  ephemeral  shreds,  in  an  atmosphere  which  soon  exhausts 
the  vigor  of  the  blood,  the  change  to  the  freedom  of  Orien- 
tal life,  to  the  wonders  of  the  oldest  art  and  to  the  easy 
record  of  impressions  so  bright  and  keen  that  they  put 
themselves  into  words,  was  like  that  from  night  to  day. 
With  restored  health,  the  life  of  the  body  became  a  delight 
in  itself;  a  kindly  fortune  seemed  to  attend  my  steps;  I 
learned  something  of  the  patience  and  fatalistic  content  of 
the  races  among  whom  I  was  thrown,  and  troubled  myself 
no  longer  with  an  anxious  concern  for  the  future. 

I  confess,  too,  that  while  floating  upon  the  waters  of  the 
White  Nile,  while  roaming  through  the  pine  forests  of 
Phrygia  or  over  the  hills  of  Loo-Choo,  I  learned  to  feel 
the  passion  of  the  Explorer.  Almost  had  I  eaten  oi  that 
fruit  which  gives  its  restless  poison  to  the  blood.  It  is 
very  likely  that,  had  I  then  been  able  to  have  marked  out 
my  future  path,  I  might  have  given  it  the  character  which 
was  afterwards  ascribed  to  me. 

I  will  further  confess  that  the  unusual  favor  with  which 
those  three  volumes  of  travel  were  received,  —  perhaps, 
also,  the  ever-repeated  attachment  of  "traveller"  to  my 
name,  and  that  demand  for  oral  report  of  what  I  had  seen 
and  learned,  which  threw  me  suddenly  into  the  profession 
of  lecturing,  with  much  the  sensation  of  the  priest  whom 
Henri  Quatre  made  general  by  mistake,  —  I  will  confess,  I 
say,  that  these  things  did  for  a  time  mislead  me  as  to  th« 


12  A   FAMILIAR   LETTER    TO  THE   READEB. 

kind  of  work  which  I  was  best  fitted  to  do.  I  did  not  see 
then,  that  my  books  were  still  a  continuation  of  the  process 
of  development,  and  that,  tried  by  a  higher  literary  stan  1- 
ard,  they  stopped  short  of  real  achievement.  My  plan,  in 
writing  them,  had  been  very  simple.  Within  the  limits 
which  I  shall  presently  indicate,  my  faculty  of  observation 
had  been  matured  by  exercise ;  my  capacity  to  receive 
impressions  was  quick  and  sensitive,  and  the  satisfaction  I 
took  in  descriptive  writing  was  much  the  same  as  that 
of  an  artist  who  should  paint  the  same  scenes.  I  endeav- 
ored, in  fact,  to  make  words  a  substitute  for  pencil  and 
palette.  Having  learned,  at  last,  to  analyze  and  compare, 
and  finding  that  the  impression  produced  upon  my  readers 
was  proportionate  to  its  degree  of  strength  upon  my  own 
mind,  I  fancied  that  I  might  acquire  the  power  of  bringing 
home  to  thousands  of  firesides  clear  pictures  of  the  remotest 
regions  of  the  earth,  and  that  this  would  be  a  service  worth 
undertaking. 

With  a  view  of  properly  qualifying  myself  for  the  work, 
I  made  a  collection  of  the  narratives  of  the  noted  travel- 
lers of  all  ages,  from  Herodotus  to  Humboldt.  It  was  a 
rich  and  most  instructive  field  of  study ;  but  the  first  re- 
sult was  to  open  my  eyes  to  the  many  requirements  of  a 
successful  traveller  —  a  list  which  increases  with  each  gene- 
ration. I  was  forced  to  oompare  myself  with  those  wan- 
derers of  the  Middle  Ages,  whose  chief  characteristic  was  a 
boundless  capacity  for  wonder  and  delight,  but,  alas !  this 
age  would  not  allow  me  their  naive  frankness  of  speech. 
Moreover,  I  had  now  discovered  that  Man  is  vastly  more 
important  than  Nature,  and  the  more  I  dipped  into  anthro- 
pological and  ethnological  works,  the  more  I  became  con- 
vinced that  I  could  not  hope  to  be  of  service  unless  I 
should  drop  all  other  purposes  and  plans,  and  give  my  life 
wholly  to  the  studies  upon  which  those  sciences  are  based. 
But  the  latter  lay  so  far  away  from  my  intentions  —  so  fai 
from  that  intellectual  activity  which  is  joyous  because  it  if 


A  FANHLIAR   LETTER   TO   THE   READER.  18 

spontaneous  —  that  I  was  forced  to  pause  and  consider  th€ 
matter  seriously. 

A  writer  whose  mind  has  been  systematically  trained 
from  the  start  will  hardly  comprehend  by  what  gradual 
processes  I  attained  unto  a  little  self-knowledge.  The 
faculties  called  into  exercise  by  travel  so  repeated  and 
prolonged,  continued  to  act  from  the  habit  of  action,  and 
subsided  very  slowly  into  their  normal  relation  to  other 
qualiiies  of  the  mind.  They  still  continued  to  affect  my 
plans,  when  I  left  home,  in  1856,  for  another  visit  to  Europe. 
It  will,  therefore,  be  easily  understood  how  I  came  to  coni- 
bine  a  winter  and  summer  trip  to  the  Arctic  Zone  with  my 
design  of  studying  the  Scandinavian  races  and  languages : 
the  former  was  meant  as  a  counterpart  to  my  previous  ex- 
periences in  tropical  lands.  This  journey,  and  that  to 
Greece  and  Russia,  which  immediately  followed,  were  the 
receding  waves  of  the  tide.  While  I  was  engaged  with 
them  I  found  that  my  former  enjoyment  of  new  scenes, 
and  the  zest  of  getting  knowledge  at  first-hand,  were  sen 
sibly  diminished  by  regret  for  the  lack  of  those  severe  pre 
paratory  studies  which  would  have  enabled  me  to  see  and 
learn  so  much  more. 

I  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  contradict  a  story 
which,  for  eight  or  nine  years  past  has  appeared  from  time 
to  time  in  the  newspapers  —  that  Humboldt  had  said  of  me : 
"  He  has  travelled  more  and  seen  less  than  any  man  living." 
The  simple  publication  of  a  letter  from  Humboldt  to  my- 
self would  have  silenced  this  invention ;  but  I  desisted, 
because  I  knew  its  originator,  and  did  not  care  to  take 
that  much  notice  of  him.  The  same  newspapers  after- 
wards informed  me  that  he  had  confessed  the  slander, 
shortly  before  his  death.  I  mention  the  circumstance  now, 
in  order  to  say  that  the  sentence  attributed  to  Humboldt 
was  no  doubt  kept  alive  by  the  grain  of  truth  at  the  bottom 
of  it.  Had  Humboldt  actually  said:  "No  man  who  has 
published  so  many  volumes  of  travel  has  con^ibuted  so 


14  A  FAMILrAR   LETTER   TO   THE  READER. 

little  to  positive  science"  —  he  would  have  spoken  the 
ti-uth.  and  I  should  have  agreed  with  him.  But  wherij 
during  my  last  interview  with  that  great  student  of  Nature, 
I  remarked  that  he  would  find  in  my  volumes  nothing  of 
the  special  knowledge  which  he  needed,  it  was  very  grate 
ful  to  me  when  he  replied  :  "  But  you  paint  the  world  as  we, 
explorers  of  science,  cannot.  Do  not  undervalue  what  you 
have  done.  It  is  a  real  service  ;  and  the  unscientific  travel- 
ler, who  knows  the  use  of  his  eyes,  observes  for  us  always, 
without  being  aware  of  it."  Dr.  Petermann,  the  distin- 
guished geographer,  made  almost  the  same  remark  to  me, 
four  or  five  years  afterwards. 

I  should  have  been  satisfied  with  such  approval  and  with 
certain  kindly  messages  which  I  received  from  Dr.  Barth 
and  other  explorers,  and  have  gone  forward  in  the  path 
into  which  I  was  accidentally  led,  had  I  not  felt  that  it  was 
diverging  more  and  more  from  the  work  wherein  I  should 
find  my  true  content.  I  may  here  be  met  by  the  thread- 
bare platitude  that  an  author  is  no  judge  of  his  own  per- 
formance. Very  well :  let  me,  then,  be  the  judge  of  my 
own  tastes !  On  the  one  hand  there  was  still  the  tempta- 
tion of  completing  an  unfulfilled  scheme.  Two  additional 
journeys  —  one  to  the  Caucasus,  Persia,  and  the  more  ac- 
jessible  portions  of  Central  Asia,  and  the  other  to  South 
America  —  would  have  roimded  into  tolerable  completeness 
my  personal  knowledge  of  Man  and  Nature.  Were  these 
once  accomplished,  I  might  attempt  the  construction  of  a 
work,  the  idea  of  which  hovered  before  my  mind  for  a  long 
erne  —  a  Amotcmz  cosmos,  which  should  represent  the  race 
in  its  grand  divisions,  its  relation  to  soil  and  climate,  its 
varieties  of  mental  and  moral  development,  and  its  social, 
political,  and  spiritual  phenomena,  with  the  complex  causes 
from  which  they  spring.  The  field  thus  opened  was  grander 
than  that  which  a  mere  "  tourist "  could  claim :  it  had  a 
genuine  charm  for  the  imagination,  and  even  failure  therein 
was  more  attractive  thar.  success  in  a  superficial  branch  of 
literature. 


A.    FAMILIAR   LETTEK   TO    THE   READER.  16 

On  the  other  hand,  I  began  to  feel  very  keenly  the  de- 
moralizing influence  (if  one  may  apply  such  a  term  to  intel» 
lectual  effort)  of  travel.  The  mind  flags  under  the  strain 
of  a  constant  receptivity :  it  must  have  time  to  assimilate 
end  arrange  its  stores  of  new  impressions.  ■  Moreover, 
without  that  ripe  knowledge  which  belongs  to  the  later 
rather  than  the  earlier  life  of  a  man,  the  traveller  misses 
the  full  value  of  his  opportunities.  His  observations,  in 
many  respects,  must  be  incomplete,  and  tantalize  rather 
than  satisfy.  While  he  grows  weary  of  describing  the  ex- 
ternal forms  of  Nature  and  the  more  obvious  peculiarities 
of  races,  he  has  little  chance  of  following  the  clews  to 
deeper  and  graver  knowledge  which  are  continually  offered 
to  his  hands.  "Where,  as  in  my  case,  othe.r  visions,  of  very 
different  features,  obscured  for  a  time  but  never  suppressed, 
beckon  him  onward,  he  must  needs  pause  before  the  desul- 
tory habit  of  mind,  engendered  by  travel,  becomes  con- 
firmed. 

It  was  easy  for  me,  at  this  "  parting  of  the  ways,"  to  de 
cide  which  was  my  better  road.  While  I  was  grateful  for 
the  fortune  which  had  led  me  so  far,  and  through  such 
manifold  experience,  I  saw  that  I  should  only  reach  the 
best  results  of  what  I  had  already  gained,  by  giving  up  all 
further  plans  of  travel.  The  favor  with  which  my  narra- 
tives had  been  received  was,  in  great  measure,  due  to  a  re- 
flection in  them  of  the  lively  interest  which  I  had  taken  in 
my  own  wanderings,  —  to  an  appetite  for  external  impres- 
sions which  was  now  somewhat  cloyed,  and  a  delight  in 
mere  description  which  I  could  no  longer  feel.  My  activ- 
ity in  this  direction  appealed  to  me  as  a  field  which  had 
been  traversed  in  order  to  reach  my  proper  pastures.  It 
had  been  broad  and  pleasant  to  the  feet,  and  many  good 
friends  cried  to  me  :  "  Stay  where  you  are  —  it  is  the  path 
which  you  f;hould  tread  !  "  yet  1  preferred  to  press  onward 
towa:'ds  the  rugged  steeps  beyond.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
the  pleasure  of  reading  a  book  must  be  commensurate  with 


16  A   FAMILIAR   LETTER  TO   THE  READER. 

the  author's  pleasure  in  writing  it,  and  that  those  books 
which  do  not  grow  from  the  natural  productive  fi  rce  of  the 
mind  will  never  possess  any  real  vitality. 

The  poet  Tennyson  once  said  to  me :  "A  book  of  travels 
may  be  so  written  that  it  shall  be  as  immortal  as  a  great 
poem."  Perhaps  so:  but  in  that  case  its  immortality  will 
be  dependent  upon  intellectual  qualities  which  the  travel- 
ler, as  a  traveller,  does  not  absolutely  require.  The  most 
interesting  narrative  of  exploration  is  that  which  is  most 
simply  told.  A  poetic  apprehension  of  Nature,  a  spark- 
ling humor,  graces  of  style  —  all  these  are  doubtful  merits. 
We  want  the  naked  truth,  without  even  a  fig-leaf  of  fancy. 
We  may  not  appreciate  all  the  facts  of  science  which  the 
explorer  has  collected,  but  to  omit  them  would  be  to  weaken 
his  authority.  Narratives  of  travel  serve  either  to  measure 
our  knowledge  of  other  lands,  in  which  case  they  stand 
only  until  superseded  by  more  thorough  research,  or  to  ex- 
hibit the  coloring  which  those  lands  take  when  painted  for 
us  by  individual  minds,  in  which  case  their  value  must  be 
fixed  by  the  common  standards  of  literature.  For  the 
former  class,  the  widest  scientific  culture  is  demanded:  for 
the  latter,  something  of  the  grace  and  freedom  and  keen 
mental  insight  which  we  require  in  a  work  of  fiction.  The 
only  traveller  in  whom  the  two  characters  were  thoroughly 
combined,  was  Goethe.     ' 

Should  I  hesitate  to  confess  that  to  be  styled  "  a  great 
American  traveller,"  has  always  touched  me  with  a  sense 
of  humiliation  ?  It  is  as  if  one  should  say  "  a  great  Amer- 
ican pupil ; "  for  the  books  of  travel  which  I  have  pub- 
lished appear  to  me  as  so  many  studies,  so  many  processes 
of  education,  with  the  one  advantage  that,  however  imma- 
ture they  may  be,  nothing  in  them  is  forced  or  affected. 
The  jjurneys  they  describe  came,  as  I  have  shown,  through 
a  natural  series  of  circumstances,  one  leading  on  the  other; 
no  particular  daring  or  energy,  and  no  privaticn  from 
which  a  healthy  man  need  shrink,  was  necessary.     Danger 


A   FAMILIAR    LETTER   TO    THE    READER.  11 

ib  oftener  a  creation  of  one's  own  mind  than  an  absolute 
fact,  and  1  presume  tliat  my  share  of  personal  adventure 
was  no  more  than  would  fall  to  the  lot  of  any  man,  in  the 
same  period  of  travel.  To  be  praised  for  virtues  which 
one  does  not  feel  to  be  such,  is  quite  as  unwelcome  as  to 
be  censured  for  faults  which  are  not  made  evident  to  one's 
self. 

If  I  wish  that  these  volumes  of  mine  were  worthier  of 
the  opportunities  granted  to  me,  at  least  I  do  not  regret 
that  they  were  written.  Hardly  a  week  passes,  but  I  re- 
ceive letters  from  young  men,  who  have  been  stimulated 
by  them  to  achieve  the  education  of  travel ;  and,  believing 
as  I  do  that  the  more  broad  and  cosmopolitan  in  his  views 
a  man  becomes  through  his  knowledge  of  other  lands,  the 
purer  and  more  intelligent  shall  l;e  his  patriotic  sentiment 
—  the  more  easily  he  shall  lift  himself  out  of  the  narrow 
sphere  of  local  interests  and  prejudices  —  I  rejoice  that  I 
have  been  able  to  assist  in  giving  this  direction  to  the 
minds  of  the  American  youth.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
say  that  I  had  no  such  special  intention  in  the  beginning, 
for  I  never  counted  beforehand  on  the  favor  of  the  public: 
but  the  fact,  as  it  has  been  made  manifest  to  me,  is  some- 
thing for  which  I  am  exceedingly  grateful. 

In  this  volume  I  have  purposely  dropped  the  form  of 
continuous  narrative,  which,  indeed,  was  precluded  by  the 
nature  of  my  material.  The  papers  it  contains,  each  de- 
voted to  a  separate  By-way  of  Europe,  were  written  at 
/arious  times,  during  two  journeys  abroad,  within  the  past 
five  or  six  years.  I  employed  the  intervals  of  other  occu- 
pation, from  time  to  time,  in  making  excursions  to  outlying 
comers  of  the  Old  World,  few  of  which  are  touched  by  the 
ordinary  round  of  travel.  Nearly  all  of  them,  nevertheless, 
attracted  me  by  some  picturesque  interest,  either  of  history, 
or  scenery,  or  popular  institutions  and  customs.  SucL 
points,  for  instance,  as  Lake  Ladoga,  Appenzell,  Andorra, 
and  the  Teutoburger  Forest,  although  lying  near  the  fre- 


18  A  FAMILIAR   LETTER    10  THE   READEB. 

fuented  highways  and  not  difficult  of  access,  are  verj 
rarely  visited,  and  an  account  of  them  is  not  an  unnoces- 
sary  contribution  to  the  literature  of  travel.  A  few  of  tJie 
places  1  have  included  —  St.  Petersburg  in  winter,  Capri 
and  Ischia  —  cannot  properly  be  classed  as  "  By-ways," 
yet  they  form  so  small  a  proportion  of  the  contents  of  the 
volume  that  I  may  be  allowed  to  retain  its  title.  Being 
the  result  of  brief  intervals  of  leisure,  and  the  desire  to 
turn  my  season  of  recreation  to  some  good  account,  the 
various  papers  were  produced  without  regard  to  any  plan, 
and  each  is  meant  to  be  independent  of  the  others.  If  I 
had  designtd  to  present  a  tolerably  complete  description 
of  all  the  interesting  By-ways  of  Europe,  I  must  have  in- 
cluded Auvergne,  Brittany,  the  Basque  provinces  of  Spain, 
Friesland,  the  Carpathians,  Apulia,  Croatia,  and  Transyl- 
vania. 

In  laying  down  the  mantle  of  a  traveller,  which  has  been 
thrown  upon  my  shoulders  rather  than  voluntarily  assumed, 
I  do  not  wish  to  be  understood  as  renouncing  all  the  chances 
of  the  future.  I  cannot  foresee  what  compulsory  influences, 
▼hat  inevitable  events,  may  come  to  shape  the  course  of 
my  life :  the  work  of  the  day  is  all  with  which  a  man  need 
3oncern  himself.  One  thing,  only,  is  certain ;  I  shall 
never,  from  the  mere  desire  of  travel,  go  forth  to  the  dis- 
tant parts  of  the  earth.  '  Some  minds  are  so  constituted 
that  their  freest  and  cheerfulest  activity  will  not  accom- 
pany the  body  from  place  to  place,  but  is  dependent  on 
the  air  of  home,  on  certain  familiar  surroundings,  and  an 
equable  habit  of  life.  Each  writer  has  his  own  peculiar 
laws  of  production,  which  the  reader  cannot  always  deduce 
from  his  works.  It  anmses  me,  who  have  set  my  house- 
hold gods  upon  the  soil  which  my  ancestors  have  tilled  for 
near  two  hundred  years,  to  hear  my  love  of  home  ques- 
tioned by  men  who  have  changed  theirs  a  dozen  times. 

I  therefore  entreat  of  you,  my  kindly  reader,  that  you 
will  not  ascribe  my  many  wanderings  to  an  inborn  propen 


A  FAMILIAR    LETIER   TO   THE   READER.  19 

sity  to  wander,  —  that  you  will  believe  me  when  I  say  that 
culture,  in  its  most  comprehensive  sense,  is  more  to  me 
than  the  chance  of  seeing  the  world,  —  and,  finally,  that 
you  will  consider  whether  I  have  any  legitimate  right  to  as- 
sume the  calling  of  an  author,  unless  1  choose  the  work 
that  seems  fittest,  without  regard  to  that  acceptance  of  it 
which  is  termed  popularity.  If  you  have  found  enough  in 
my  former  volumes  of  travel  to  persuade  you  to  accompany 
me  into  other  walks  of  literature,  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
convince  you  that  I  am  right  iu  the  conclusions  at  which 
I  have  arrived.  If,  believing  me  mistaken,  you  decide  to 
turn  away,  let  us  at  least  shake  hands,  and,  while  I  thank 
you  for  your  company  thus  far  on  my  way,  still  part  aa 

friends ! 

BATABD  TAILOB, 

Cbdabcroft,  September.  1868. 


A  CRUISE   ON  LAKE  LADOGA. 


"Dear  T.,  —  The  steamboat  Valamo  is  advertised  to  lea\e  os 

Tuesday,  the  26th  (July  8th,  New  Style),  for  Serdopol,  at  the 
very  head  of  Lake  Ladoga,  stopping  on  the  way  at  Schliisselburg, 
Konewitz  Island,  Kexholni,  and  the  island  and  monastery  of  Va- 
laam.  The  anniversary  of  Saints  Sergius  and  Herrmann,  mir- 
acle-workers, will  be  celebrated  at  the  last  named  place  on  Thurs- 
day, and  the  festival  of  the  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul  on  Friday. 
If  the  weather  is  fine,  the  boat  will  take  passengers  to  the  Holy 
Island.  The  fare  is  nine  rubles  for  the  trip.  You  can  be  back 
again  in  St.  Petersburg  by  six  o'clock  on  Saturday  even.ng  '  to- 
visions  can  be  had  on  board,  but  (probably)  not  beds  ;  so,  if  you 
are  luxurious  in  this  particular,  take  along  your  own  sheets,  pil- 
low-c£Uses,  and  blankets.  I  intend  going,  and  depend  upon  your 
company.  Make  up  your  mind  by  ten  o'clock,  when  I  will  call 
for  your  decision.  Yours, 

"P." 

I  laid  down  the  note,  looked  at  my  watch,  and  found  that 
I  had  an  hour  for  deliberation  before  P.'s  arrival.  "  Lake 
Ladoga?"  said  I  to  myself;  "it  is  the  largest  lake  in  Eu- 
rope —  I  learned  that  at  school.  It  is  full  of  fish ;  it  is 
stormy ;  and  the  Neva  is  its  outlet.  What  else  ?  "  I  took 
down  a  geographical  dictionary,  and  obtained  the  following 
additional  particulars :  The  name  Lad'oga  (not  Lado'ga,  as 
it  is  pronounced  in  America)  is  Finnish,  and  means  "  new." 
Thf  lake  lies  between  60°  and  61**  45'  north  latitude,  is 
175  versts  —  about  117  miles  —  in  length,  from  north  to 
south,  and  100  versts  in  breadth  ;  receives  the  great  river 
Volkhoff  on  the  south,  the  Svir,  which  pours  into  it  the 
waters  «jf  Lake  Onega,  on  the  east,  and  the  overflow  of 


24  BY-WAYS  OF  EUKOPE. 

nearly  half  the  lakes  of  Finland,  on  the  west ;  and  u,  fai 
some  parts,  fourteen  hundred  feet  deep. 

Vainly,  however,  did  I  ransack  my  memory  for  the  nar 
rative  of  any  traveller  who  had  beheld  and  described  thia 
lake.  The  red  hand-book,  beloved  of  tourists,  did  not  even 
deign  to  notice  its  existence.  The  more  I  meditated  on 
the  subject,  the  rnore  I  became  convinced  that  here  was  an 
untrodden  corner  of  the  world,  lying  within  easy  reach  of 
a  great  capital,  yet  unknown  to  the  eyes  of  conventional 
sight-seers.  The  name  of  Valaam  suggested  that  of  Bar- 
laam,  in  Thessaly,  likewise  a  Greek  monastery ;  and  though 
I  knew  nothing  about  Sergius  and  Herrmann,  the  fict  of 
their  choosing  such  a  spot  was  the  beginning  of  a  curious 
interest  in  their  history.  The  very  act  of  poring  over  a 
map  excites  the  imagination  :  I  fell  into  conjectures  about 
the  scenery,  vegetation,  and  inhabitants,  and  thus,  by  the 
time  P.  arrived,  was  conscious  of  a  violent  desire  to  make 
the  cruise  with  him.  To  our  care  was  confided  an  American 
youth  whom  I  shall  call  R.,  —  we  three  being,  as  we  after- 
wards discovered,  the  first  of  our  countrymen  to  visit  the 
northern  portion  of  the  lake. 

The  next  morning,  although  it  was  cloudy  and  raw,  R 
and  I  rose  betimes,  and  were  jolted  on  a  droshky  through 
the  long  streets  to  the  Valamo's  landing-place.  We  found 
a  handsome  English-builf  steamer,  with  tonnage  and  power 
enough  for  the  heaviest  squalls,  and  an  after-cabin  so  com- 
fortable that  all  our  anticipations  of  the  primitive  modes  of 
travel  were  banished  at  once.  As  men  not  ashamed  of  our 
health,  we  had  decided  to  omit  the  sheets  and  pillow-cases, 
and  let  the  tooth-brush  answer  as  an  evidence  of  our  high 
civilization  ;  but  the  broad  divans  and  velvet  cushions  of 
the  cabin  brought  us  back  to  luxury  in  spite  of  ourselves. 
The  captain,  smoothly  shaven  and  robust,  as  befitted  his 
station,  —  English  in  all  but  his  eyes,  which  were  thoroughly 
Russian,  —  gave  us  a  cordial  welcome  in  passable  French. 
P.  drove  up  presently,  and  the  crowd  on  the  floating  piei 


■     A   CBUISE   ON   LAKE    LADOGA.  ^ 

rapidly  increased,  as  the  moment  of  departure  approached. 
Our  fellow-pilgrims  were  mostly  peasants  and  deck-passen- 
gers :  two  or  three  officers,  and  a  score  of  the  bourgeois, 
were  divided,  according  to  their  means,  between  the  first 
and  second  cabins.  There  were  symptoms  of  crowding,  and 
we  hastened  to  put  in  preemption-claims  for  the  bench  on 
the  port  side,  distributing  our  travelling  sacks  and  pouches 
along  it,  as  a  guard  against  squatters.  The  magic  promise 
of  na  chdi  (something  to  buy  tea  with)  further  inspired  the 
waiters  with  a  peculiar  regard  for  our  interest,  so  that 
leaving  our  important  possessions  in  their  care,  we  went  on 
deck  to  witness  the  departure. 

By  this  time  the  Finnish  sailors  were  hauling  in  the 
slack  hawsers,  and  the  bearded  stevedores  on  the  floating 
quay  tugged  at  the  gangway.  Many  of  our  presumed  pas- 
sengers had  only  come  to  say  good-bye,  which  they  were 
now  waving  and  shouting  from  the  shore.  The  rain  fell 
dismally,  and  a  black,  hopeless  sky  settled  down  upon  the 
Neva.  But  the  Northern  summer,  we  knew,  is  as  fickle  as 
the  Southern  April,  and  we  trusted  that  Sergius  and  Herr- 
mann, the  saints  of  Valaam,  would  smooth  for  us  the  rugged 
waters  of  Ladoga.  At  last  the  barking  little  bell  ceased 
to  snarl  at  the  tardy  pilgrims.  The  swift  current  swung 
our  bow  into  the  stream,  and,  as  we  moved  away,  the  crowd 
on  deck  uncovered  their  heads,  not  to  the  bowing  friends 
on  the  quay,  but  to  the  spire  of  a  church  which  rose  to 
view  behind  the  houses  fronting  the  Neva.  Devoutly  cross- 
ing themselves  with  the  joined  three  fingers,  symbolical 
of  the  Trinity,  they  doubtless  murmured  a  prayer  for  the 
propitious  completion  of  the  pilgrimage,  to  which,  I  am 
sure,  we  could  have  readily  echoed  the  amen. 

The  Valamo  was  particularly  distinguished,  on  this  oc- 
casion, by  a  flag  at  the  fore,  carrying  the  white  Greek  cross 
on  a  red  field.  This  proclaimed  her  mission  as  she  passed 
along,  and  the  bells  of  many  a  little  church  pealed  God« 


86  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

speed  to  her  and  her  passengers.  The  latter,  in  spfte  of 
the  rain,  thronged  the  deck,  and  continually  repeated  tbeif 
devotions  to  the  shrines  on  either  bank.  On  the  right,  the 
starry  domes  of  the  Smolnoi,  rising  from  the  lap  of  a  Imden- 
grove,  flashed  upon  us ;  then,  beyond  the  long  front  of  the 
college  of  demoiselles  nobles  and  the  military  store-houses, 
we  hailed  the  silver  hemispheres  which  canopy  the  tomb 
and  shrine  of  St  Alexander  of  the  Neva.  On  the  left, 
huge  brick  factories  pushed  back  the  gleaming  groves  of 
birch,  which  flowed  around  and  between  them,  to  dip  their 
hanging  boughs  in  the  river ;  but  here  and  there  peeped 
out  the  bright  green  cupolas  of  some  little  church,  none  of 
which,  I  was  glad  to  see,  slipped  out  of  the  panorama  with- 
out its  share  of  reverence. 

For  some  miles  we  sailed  between  a  double  row  of  con- 
tiguous villages  —  a  long  suburb  of  the  capital,  which 
stretched  on  and  on,  until  the  slight  undulations  of  the 
shore  showed  that  we  had  left  behind  us  the  dead  level  of 
the  Ingrian  marshes.  It  is  surprising  what  an  interest  one 
takes  in  the  slightest  mole-hill,  after  living  for  a  short  time 
on  a  plain.  You  are  charmed  with  an  elevation  which  en- 
ables you  to  look  over  your  neighbor's  hedge.  I  once  heard 
a  clergyman,  in  his  sermon,  assert  that  "  the  world  was  per- 
fectly smooth  before  the  fall  of  Adam,  and  the  present  in- 
equalities in  its  surface  were  the  evidences  of  human  sin." 
I  was  a  boy  at  the  time,  and  I  thought  to  myself,  "  How 
fortunate  it  is  that  we  are  sinners ! "  Peter  the  Great,  how- 
ever, had  no  choice  left  him.  The  piles  he  drove  in  these 
marshes  were  the  surest  foundation  of  his  empire. 

The  Neva,  in  its  sudden  and  continual  windings,  in  it* 
clear,  cold,  sweet  water,  and  its  fiinging  groves  of  birch, 
maple,  and  alder,  compensates,  in  a  great  measure,  for  the 
flatness  of  its  shores.  It  has  not  the  slow  magnificence  of 
the  Hudson  or  the  rush  of  the  Rhine,  but  carries  with  it  a 
■ense  of  power,  of  steady,  straightforward  force,  like  that 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  27 

of  the  ancient  warriors  who  disdained  all  clothing  except 
their  swords.  Its  river-god  is  not  even  crowned  with  reeds, 
but  the  full  flow  of  his  urn  rolls  forth  undiminished  by 
summer  and  unchecked  beneath  its  wintry  lid.  Outlets  of 
large  lakes  frequently  exhibit  this  characteristic,  and  the 
impression  they  make  upon  the  mind  does  not  depend  on 
the  scenery  through  which  they  flow.  Nevertheless,  we  dis- 
covered many  points,  the  beauty  of  which  was  not  blotted 
out  by  rain  and  cloud,  and  would  have  shone  freshly  and 
winningly  under  the  touch  of  the  sun.  On  the  north  bank 
there  is  a  palace  of  Potemkin  (or  Potchdmkin,  as  his 
name  is  pronounced  in  Russian),  charmingly  placed  at  a 
bend,  whence  it  looks  both  up  and  down  the  river.  The 
gay  color  of  the  building,  as  of  most  of  the  datchas,  or 
country-villas,  in  Russia,  makes  a  curious  impression  upon 
the  stranger.  Until  he  has  learned  to  accept  it  as  a  portion 
of  the  landscape,  the  effect  is  that  of  a  scenic  design  on  the 
part  of  the  builder.  These  dwellings,  these  villages  and 
churches,  he  thinks,  are  scarcely  intended  to  be  permanent : 
they  were  erected  as  part  of  some  great  dramatic  spectacle, 
which  has  been,  or  is  to  be,  enacted  under  the  open  sky. 
Contrasted  with  the  sober,  matter-of-fact  aspect  of  dwell- 
ings in  other  countries,  they  have  the  effect  of  temporary 
decorations.  But  when  one  has  entered  within  those  walls 
of  green  and  blue  and  red  arabesques,  inspected  their 
thickness,  viewed  the  ponderous  porcelain  stoves,  tasted, 
perhaps,  the  bountiful  cheer  of  the  owner,  he  realizes  their 
palpable  comforts,  and  begins  to  suspect  that  all  the  exter- 
ual  adornment  is  merely  an  attempt  to  restore  to  Nature 
that  coloring  of  which  she  is  stripped  by  the  cold  sky  of 
the  North. 

A  little  further  on,  there  is  a  summer  villa  of  the  Empress 
Catharine  —  a  small,  modest  building,  crowning  a  sir pe  of 
green  turf  Beyond  this,  the  banks  are  draped  with  foliage, 
and  the  thinly  clad  birches,  with  their  silver  stems,  shiver 
above  the  rush  of  the  waters.     We,  also,  began  to  sbivei 


28  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

under  the  steadily  falling  rain,  and  retreated  to  the  cabin 
on  the  steward's  first  hint  of  dinner.  A  table  d'hote  of  fonf 
courses  was  promised  us,  including  the  preliminary  zakouski 
and  the  supplementary  coffee  —  all  for  sixty  copeks,  which 
is  about  forty-five  cents.  The  zakouski  is  an  arrangemenf 
peculiar  to  Northern  countries,  and  readily  adopted  by  for- 
eigners. In  Sweden  it  is  called  the  smorgas,  or  "  butter- 
goose,"  but  the  American  term  (if  we  had  the  custom)  would 
be  "  the  whetter."  On  a  side-table  there  are  various  plates 
of  anchovies,  cheese,  chopped  onions,  raw  salt  herring,  and 
bread,  all  in  diminutive  slices,  while  glasses  of  corresponding 
size  surround  a  bottle  of  kiimmel,  or  cordial  of  caraway- 
seed.  This,  at  least,  was  the  zakouski  on  board  the  Valamo, 
and  to  which  our  valiant  captain  addressed  himself,  after 
first  bowing  and  crossing  himself  towards  the  Byzantine 
Christ  and  Virgin  in  either  corner  of  the  cabin.  We,  of 
course,  followed  his  example,  finding  our  appetites,  if  not 
improved,  certainly  not  at  all  injured  thereby.  The  dinner 
which  followed  far  surpassed  our  expectations.  The  nation- 
al shchee,  or  cabbage-soup,  is  better  than  the  sound  of  its 
name ;  the  fish,  fresh  from  the  cold  Neva,  is  sure  to  be  well 
cooked  where  it  forms  an  important  article  of  diet ;  and  the 
partridges  were  accompanied  by  those  plump  little  Russian 
cucumbers,  which  are  so  tender  and  flavorous  that  they 
deserve  to  be  called  fruit'rather  than  vegetables. 

When  we  went  on  deck  to  light  our  Riga  cigars,  the 
boat  was  approaching  Schliisselburg,  at  the  outlet  of  the 
lake.  Here  the  Neva,  just  born,  sweeps  in  two  broad  arms 
around  the  island  which  bears  the  Key-fortress  —  the  key 
bj  which  Peter  opened  this  river-door  to  the  Gulf  of  Fin- 
land. The  pretty  town  of  the  same  name  is  on  the  south 
bank,  and  in  the  centre  of  its  front  yawn  the  granite  gates 
of  the  canal  which,  for  a  hundred  versts,  skirts  the  southern 
shore  of  the  lake,  forming,  with  the  Volkhoff*  River  and 
another  canal  beyond,  a  summer  communication  with  the 
vast  regions  watered  by  the  Volga  and  its  affluents.    The 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  29 

Ladoga  Canal,  by  which  the  heavy  barges  laden  with  hemp 
from  Mid-Russia,  and  wool  from  the  Ural,  and  wood  from 
the  Valdai  Hills,  avoid  the  sudden  storms  of  the  lake,  was 
also  the  work  of  Peter  the  Great.  I  should  have  gone  on 
shore  to  inspect  the  locks,  but  for  the  discouraging  persist- 
ence of  the  rain.  Huddled  against  the  smoke-stack,  we 
could  do  nothing  but  look  on  the  draggled  soldiers  and 
rmjiks  splashing  through  the  mud,  the  low  yellow  fortress, 
which  has  long  outlived  its  importance,  and  the  dark-gray 
waste  of  lake  which  loomed  in  front,  suggestive  of  rough 
water  and  kindred  abominations. 

There  it  was,  at  last,  —  Lake  Ladoga, — and  now  oui 
prow  turns  to  unknown  regions.  We  steamed  past  the 
fort,  past  a  fleet  of  brigs,  schooners,  and  brigantines,  with 
huge,  rounded  stems  and  sterns,  laden  with  wood  from  the 
Wolkonskoi  forests,  and  boldly  entered  the  gray  void  of 
fog  and  rain.  The  surface  of  the  lake  was  but  slightly 
agitated,  as  the  wind  gradually  fell  and  a  thick  mist  settled 
on  the  water.  Hour  after  hour  passed  away,  as  we  rushed 
onward  through  the  blank,  and  we  naturally  turned  to  our 
fellow-passengers  in  search  of  some  interest  or  diversion 
to  beguile  the  time.  The  heavy-bearded  peasants  and  their 
weather-beaten  wives  were  scattered  around  the  deck  in 
various  attitudes,  some  of  the  former  asleep  on  their  backs, 
with  open  mouths,  beside  the  smoke-stack.  There  were 
many  picturesque  figures  among  them,  and,  if  I  possessed 
the  quick  pencil  of  Kaulbach,  I  might  have  filled  a  dozen 
leaves  of  my  sketch-book.  The  bourgeoisie  were  huddled 
on  the  quarter-deck  benches,  silent,  and  fearful  of  sea-sick- 
ness. But  a  very  bright,  intelligent  young  ofiicer  turned 
up,  who  had  crossed  the  Ural,  and  was  able  to  entertain  us 
with  an  account  of  the  splendid  sword-blades  of  Zlatdoust 
He  was  now  on  his  way  to  the  copper  mines  of  Pitkaranda, 
on  the  northeastern  shore  of  the  lake. 

About  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  although  still  before 
tunset,  the  fog  bega.n  to  darken,  and  T  was  apprehensive 


80  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

that  we  should  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  the  island  of 
Konewitz,  which  was  to  be  our  stopping-place  for  the  night 
The  captain  ordered  the  engine  to  be  slowed,  and  brought 
forward  a  brass  half-pounder,  about  a  foot  long,  which  was 
charged  and  fired.  In  less  than  a  minute  after  the  report, 
the  sound  of  a  deep  solemn  bell  boomed  in  the  mist,  dead 
flhead.  Instantly  every  head  wao  uncovered,  and  the  rustle 
of  whispered  prayers  fluttered  over  the  deck,  as  the  pil- 
grims bowed  and  crossed  themselves.  Nothing  was  to  be 
seen ;  but,  stroke  after  stroke,  the  hollow  sounds,  muffled 
and  blurred  in  the  opaque  atmosphere,  were  pealed  out  by 
the  guiding  bell.  Presently  a  chime  of  smaller  bells  joined 
in  a  rapid  accompaniment,  growing  louder  and  clearer  as 
we  advanced.  The  effect  was  startling.  After  voyaging 
for  hours  over  the  blank  water,  this  sudden  and  solemn 
welcome,  sounded  from  some  invisible  tower,  assumed  a 
mystic  and  marvelous  character.  Was  it  not  rather  the 
bells  of  a  city,  ages  ago  submerged,  and  now  sending  its 
ghostly  summons  up  to  the  pilgrims  passing  over  its  crystal 
grave? 

Finally  a  tall  mast,  its  height  immensely  magnified  by 
the  fog,  could  be  distinguished ;  then  the  dark  hulk  of  a 
steamer,  a  white  gleam  of  sand  through  the  fog,  indistinct 
outlines  of  trees,  a  fisherman's  hut,  and  a  landing-place. 
The  bells  still  rang  out'  from  some  high  station  near  at 
hand,  but  unseen.  We  landed  as  soon  as  the  steamer  had 
made  fast,  and  followed  the  direction  of  the  sound.  A  few 
paces  from  the  beach  stood  a  little  chapel,  open,  and  with 
a  lamp  burning  before  its  brown  Virgin  and  Child.  Here 
our  passengers  stopped,  and  made  a  brief  prayer  before 
going  on.  Two  or  three  beggars,  whose  tattered  dresses 
of  tow  suggested  the  idea  of  their  having  clothed  them- 
selves with  the  sails  of  shipwrecked  vessels,  bowed  before 
us  so  profoundly  and  reverently  Chat  we  at  first  feared  they 
had  mistaken  us  for  the  shrines.  Following  an  avenue  of 
trees,  up  a  gentle  enunence,  the  tall  white  towers  and  green 


A    CBUISE    ON    LAKE    LADOGA.  31 

domes  of  a  stately  church  gradually  detached  themselves 
from  the  mist,  and  we  found  ourselves  at  the  portal  of  the 
monastery.  A  group  of  monks,  in  the  usual  black  robes, 
and  high,  cylindrical  caps  of  crape,  the  covering  of  which 
overlapped  and  fell  upon  their  shoulders,  were  waiting,  ap 
parently  to  receive  visitors.  Recognizing  us  as  foreigners, 
they  greeted  us  with  great  cordiality,  and  invited  us  to  take 
up  our  quarters  for  the  night  in  the  house  appropriated  to 
guests.  We  desired,  however,  to  see  the  church  before  the 
combined  fog  and  twilight  should  make  it  too  dark ;  so  a 
benevolent  old  monk  led  the  way,  hand  in  hand  with  P., 
across  the  court-yard. 

The  churches  of  the  Greek  faith  present  a  general  re- 
semblance in  their  internal  decorations.  There  is  a  glitter 
of  gold,  silver,  and  flaring  colors  in  the  poorest.  Statues 
are  not  permitted,  but  the  pictures  of  dark  Saviours  and 
saints  are  generally  covered  with  a  drapery  of  silver,  with 
openings  for  the  head  and  hands.  Konewitz,  however- 
boasts  of  a  special  sanctity,  in  possessing  the  body  of  Saint 
Arsenius,  the  founder  of  the  monastery.  His  remains  are 
inclosed  in  a  large  coffin  of  silver,  elaborately  chased.  It 
was  surrounded,  as  we  entered,  by  a  crowd  of  kneeling 
pilgrims ;  the  tapers  burned  beside  it,  and  at  the  various 
altars  ;  the  air  was  thick  with  incense,  and  the  great  bell 
still  boomed  from  the  misty  tower.  Behind  us  came  a 
throng  of  our  own  deck-passengers,  who  seemed  to  recog- 
nize the  proper  shrines  by  a  sort  of  devotional  instinct,  and 
were  soon  wholly  absorbed  in  their  prayers  and  prostra- 
tions. It  is  very  evident  to  me  that  the  Russian  race  still 
requires  the  formulas  of  the  Eastern  Church  ;  a  fondness 
for  symbolic  ceremonies  and  observances  is  far  more  nat- 
ural to  its  character  than  to  the  nations  of  Latin  or  Saxon 
blood.  In  Southern  Europe  the  peasant  will  exchange 
merry  salutations  while  dipping  his  fingers  in  the  ho'y 
water,  or  turn  in  the  midst  of  his  devotions  to  inspect  a 
jtranger ;  but  the  Russian,  at  such  times,  appears  lost  ♦'o 


S2  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

the  world.  With  his  serious  eyes  fixed  on  the  shrine  or 
picture,  or,  maybe,  the  spire  of  a  distant  church,  his  face 
suddenly  becomes  rapt  and  solemn,  and  no  lurking  interest 
in  neighboring  things  interferes  with  its  expression. 

One  of  the  monks,  who  spoke  a  little  French,  took  ua 
into  his  cell.  He  was  a  tall,  frail  man  of  thirty-five,  with  a 
wasted  face,  and  brown  hair  flowing  over  his  shoulders,  like 
most  of  his  brethren  of  the  same  age.  In  those  sharp, 
earnest  features,  one  could  see  that  the  battle  was  not  yet 
over.  The  tendency  to  corpulence  does  not  appear  until 
after  the  rebellious  passions  have  been  either  subdued,  or 
pacified  by  compromise.  The  cell  was  small,  but  neat  and 
cheerful,  on  the  ground- floor,  with  a  window  opening  on 
the  court,  and  a  hard,  narrow  pallet  against  the  wall. 
There  was  also  a  little  table,  with  books,  sacred  pictures, 
and  a  bunch  of  lilacs  in  water.  The  walls  were  white- 
washed, and  the  floor  cleanly  swept.  The  chamber  was 
austere,  certainly,  but  in  no  wise  repulsive. 

It  was  now  growing  late,  and  only  the  faint  edges  of  the 
twilight  glimmered  overhead,  through  the  fog.  It  was  not 
night,  but  a  sort  of  eclipsed  day,  hardly  darker  than  our 
winter  days  under  an  overcast  sky.  We  returned  to  the 
tower,  where  an  old  monk  took  us  in  charge.  Beside  the 
monastery  is  a  special  building  for  guests,  a  room  in  which 
was  offered  to  us.  It  was  so  clean  and  pleasant,  and  the 
three  broad  sofa-couches  with  leather  cushions  looked  so 
inviting,  that  we  decided  to  sleep  there,  in  preference  to 
the  crowded  cabin.  Our  supply  of  shawls,  moreover,  en- 
abled us  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  undressing.  Before  saying 
good-night,  the  old  monk  placed  his  hand  upon  R.'s  head. 
*'  We  have  matins  at  three  o'clock,"  said  he;  "  when  you 
hear  the  bell,  get  up,  and  come  to  the  church  :  it  will  bring 
blessing  to  you."  We  were  soon  buried  in  a  slumber 
which  lacked  darkness  to  make  it  profound.  At  two 
o'clock  the  sky  was  so  bright  that  I  thought  it  six,  and  feil 
asleep  again,  determined   to   make   three  hours  before  1 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADC  BA.  t^ 

stopped.  But  presently  the  big  bell  began  to  swing 
Stroke  after  stroke,  it  first  aroused,  but  was  fast  lulling  rne, 
when  the  chimes  struck  in  and  sang  all  manner  of  inco- 
herent and  undevout  lines.  The  brain  at  last  grew  weary 
of  this,  when,  close  to  our  door,  a  little,  petulant,  impatient 
bell  commenced  barking  for  dear  life.  R.  muttered  and 
twisted  in  his  sleep,  and  brushed  away  the  sound  several 
times  from  his  upper  ear,  while  I  covered  mine  —  but  to 
no  purpose.  The  sharp,  fretful  jangle  went  through  shawls 
and  cushions,  and  the  fear  of  hearing  it  more  distinctly 
prevented  me  from  rising  for  matins.  Our  youth,  also, 
missed  his  promised  blessing,  and  so  we  slept  until  the  sun 
was  near  five  hours  high  —  that  is,  seven  o'clock. 

The  captain  promised  to  leave  for  Kexholm  at  eight, 
which  allowed  us  only  an  hour  for  a  visit  to  the  Konkamen, 
or  Horse  Rock,  distant  a  mile,  in  the  woods.  P.  engaged 
as  guide  a  long-haired  acolyte,  who  informed  us  that  he 
had  formerly  been  a  lithogi'apher  in  St.  Petersburg.  We 
did  not  ascertain  the  cause  of  his  retirement  from  the 
world :  his  features  were  too  commonplace  to  suggest  a 
romance.  Through  the  mist,  which  still  hung  heavy  on 
the  lake,  we  plunged  into  the  fir- wood,  and  hurried  on  over 
its  uneven  carpet  of  moss  and  dwarf  whortleberries.  Small 
gray  boulders  then  began  to  crop  out,  and  gradually 
became  so  thick  that  the  trees  thrust  them  aside  as  they 
grew.  All  at  once  the  wood  opened  on  a  rye-field  belong- 
ing to  the  monks,  and  a  short  turn  to  the  right  brought  us 
to  a  huge  rock,  of  irregular  shape,  about  forty  feet  in  diam- 
eter by  twenty  in  height.  The  crest  overhung  the  base  on 
all  sides  except  one,  up  which  a  wooden  staircase  led  to  a 
small  square  chapel  perched  upon  the  summit. 

The  legends  attached  to  this  rock  are  various,  but  the 
most  authentic  seems  to  be,  that  in  the  ages  when  the 
Carelians  were  still  heathen,  they  were  accustomed  to 
place  their  cattle  upon  this  island  in  summer,  as  a  protec- 
tion against  the  wolves,  first  sacrificing  a  horse  upon  th« 


81  BY-WAYS    DF   EUROPE. 

rock.  Whether  their  deity  was  the  Perun  of  the  ancient 
Russians  or  the  Jumala  of  the  Finns  is  not  stated  ;  the  in- 
habitants at  the  present  day  say,  of  course,  the  Devil. 
The  name  of  the  rock  may  also  be  translated  "  Petrified 
Horse,"  and  some  have  endeavored  to  make  out  a  resem- 
blance to  that  animal,  in  its  form.  Our  acolyte,  for  in- 
stance, insisted  thereupon,  and  argued  very  logically  — 
"  Why,  if  you  omit  the  head  and  legs,  you  must  see  that  it 
is  exactly  like  a  horse."  The  peasants  say  that  the  devil 
had  his  residence  in  the  stone,  and  point  to  a  hole  which 
he  made,  on  being  forced  by  the  exorcisms  of  Saint  Arse- 
nius  to  take  his  departure.  A  reference  to  the  legend  is 
also  indicated  in  the  name  of  the  island,  Konewitz,  which 
our  friend,  the  officer,  gave  to  me  in  French  as  Chevalise, 
or,  in  literal  English,  The  Horsefied. 

The  stones  and  bushes  were  dripping  from  the  visitation 
of  the  mist,  and  the  mosquitoes  were  busy  with  my  face 
and  hands  while  T  made  a  rapid  drawing  of  the  place. 
The  quick  chimes  of  the  monastery,  through  which  we 
fancied  we  could  hear  the  warning  boat-bell,  suddenly 
pierced  through  the  forest,  recalling  us.  The  Valamo  had 
her  steam  up,  when  we  arrived,  and  was  only  waiting  for 
her  rival,  the  Letiichie  (Flyer),  to  get  out  of  our  way.  As 
we  moved  from  the  shqre,  a  puff  of  wind  blew  away  the 
fog,  and  the  stately  white  monastery,  crowned  with  its 
bunch  of  green  domes,  stood  for  a  moment  clear  and  bright 
in  the  morning  sun.  Our  pilgrims  bent,  bareheaded,  in 
devotional  farewell  ;  the  golden  crosses  sparkled  an  an- 
swer, and  the  fog  rushed  down  again  like  a  falling  curtain. 

We  steered  nearly  due  north,  making  for  Kexholm 
formerly  a  frontier  Swedish  town,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Ri'-er  Wuoxen,  For  four  hours  it  was  a  tantalizing  strug- 
gle between  mist  and  sunshine  — a  fair  blue  sky  overhead, 
and  a  dense  cloud  sticking  to  the  surface  of  the  lake.  The 
western  shore,  though  near  at  hand,  was  not  visible ;  but 
our  captain,  with  his  usual  skill,  came  within  a  quarter  of 


A   CRUISE   ON    LAKE    LADOGA,  Sb 

A  mile  of  the  channel  leading  to  the  landing-place.  The 
fog  seemed  to  consolidate  into  the  outline  of  trees  ;  hard 
land  was  gradually  formed,  as  we  approached  ;  and  as  the 
two  river-shores  finally  inclosed  us,  the  air  cleared,  aud 
long,  wooded  hills  arose  in  the  distance.  Before  us  lay  a 
single  wharf,  with  three  wooden  buildings  leaning  against 
a  hill  of  sand. 

"  But  where  is  Kexholm  ?  " 

"  A  verst  inland,"  says  the  captain  ;  "  and  I  will  give  you 
just  half  an  hour  to  see  it." 

There  were  a  score  of  peasants,  with  clumsy  two-wheeled 
carts  and  shaggy  ponies  at  the  landing.  Into  one  of  these 
we  clambered,  gave  the  word  of  command,  and  were 
whirled  off  at  a  gallop.  There  may  have  been  some  elas- 
ticity in  the  horse,  but  there  certainly  was  none  in  the  cart. 
It  was  a  perfect  conductor,  and  the  shock  with  which  it 
passed  over  stones  and  leaped  ruts  was  instantly  communi- 
cated to  the  OS  sacrum,  passing  thence  along  the  vertebrae, 
to  discharge  itself  in  the  teeth.  Our-  driver  was  a  sun- 
burnt Finn,  who  was  bent  upon  performing  his  share  of 
the  contract,  in  order  that  he  might  afterwards,  with  a  bet- 
ter face,  demand  a  ruble.  On  receiving  just  the  half,  how- 
ever, he  put  it  into  his  pocket,  mthout  a  word  of  remon- 
strance. 

"  Suomi  ?  "  I  asked,  calling  up  a  Finnish  word  with  an 
effort 

"  Suomi-ldinen"  he  answered,  proudly  enough,  though 
the  exact  meaning  is,  "  I  am  a  Swamplander." 

Kexholm,  which  was  founded  in  1295,  has  attained  since 
then  a  population  of  several  hundreds.  Grass  grows 
between  the  cobble-stones  of  its  broad  streets,  but  the 
houses  are  altogether  so  bright,  so  clean,  so  substantially 
comfortable,  and  the  geraniums  and  roses  peeping  out 
between  snowy  curtains  in  almost  every  window  suggested 
Buch  cozy  interiors,  that  I  found  myself  quite  attracted 
towards  the  plain  little  town.     "  Here,"  said  I  to  P.,  "  is  • 


36  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROi'K. 

nook  which  is  really  out  of  the  world.  No  need  of  a  moQ 
astery,  where  you  have  such  perfect  seclusion,  and  the  in- 
dispensable solace  of  natural  society  to  make  it  endurable." 
Pleasant  faces  occasionally  looked  out,  curiously,  at  the 
impetuous  strangers :  had  they  known  our  nationality,  I 
fancy  the  whole  population  would  have  run  together. 
Reaching  the  last  house,  nestled  among  twinkling  birch- 
trees  on  a  bend  of  the  river  beyond,  we  turned  about  and 
made  for  the  fortress  —  another  conquest  of  the  Great 
Peter.  Its  low  ramparts  had  a  shabby,  neglected  look ;  an 
old  draw-bridge  spanned  the  moat,  and  there  was  no  senti- 
nel to  challenge  us  as  we  galloped  across.  In  and  out 
again,  and  down  the  long,  quiet  street,  and  over  the  jolting 
level  to  the  top  of  the  sand  hill  —  we  had  seen  Kexholm  in 
half  an  hour. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  river  still  lay  the  fog,  waiting  for  us, 
now  and  then  stretching  a  ghostly  arm  over  the  woods 
and  then  withdrawing  it,  like  a  spirit  of  the  lake,  longing 
and  yet  timid  to  embrace  the  land.  With  the  Wuoxen 
came  down  the  waters  of  the  Saima,  that  great,  irregular 
lake,  which,  with  its  innumerable  arms,  extends  for  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  miles  into  the  heart  of  Finland,  clasping  the 
forests  and  mountains  of  Savolax,  where  the  altar-stones 
of  Jumala  still  stand  in  'the  shade  of  sacred  oaks,  and  the 
song  of  the  Kalewala  is  sung  by  the  descendants  of 
Wainamoinen.  I  re^stered  a  vow  to  visit  those  Finnish 
solitudes,  as  we  shot  out  upon  the  muffled  lake,  heading  for 
the  holy  isles  of  Valaam.  This  was  the  great  point  of  in 
terest  in  our  cruise,  the  shrine  of  our  pilgrim-passengers 
We  had  heard  so  little  of  these  islands  before  leaving  St. 
Petersburg,  and  so  much  since,  that  our  curiosity  raa 
keenly  excited ;  and  thus,  thQugh  too  well  seasoned  bj  ex- 
perience to  worry  unnecessarily,  the  continuance  of  the 
fog  began  to  disgust  us.  We  shall  creep  along  as  yester- 
day, said  we,  and  have  nothing  of  Valaam  .but  the  sound 
of  its  bells.     The  air  was  intensely  raw ;  the  sun  had  dls* 


A   CRUISE    ON    LAKE    LADOGA.  87 

appeared,  and  the  bearded  peasants  again  slept,  with  open 
mouths,  on  the  deck. 

Saints  Sergius  and  Herrmann,  however,  were  not  indf- 
ferent  either  to  them  or  to  us.  About  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon  we  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  sailed  out  of  the 
fug,  passing,  in  the  distance  of  a  ship's  length,  into  a  clear 
atmosphere,  with  a  far,  sharp  horizon  !  The  nuisance  of 
the  lake  lay  behind  us,  a  steep,  opaque,  white  wall.  Before 
us,  rising  in  bold  cliffs  from  the  water  and  dark  with  pines, 
were  the  islands  of  Valaam.  Off  went  hats  and  caps,  and 
the  crowd  on  deck  bent  reverently  towards  the  consecrated 
shores.  As  we  drew  near,  the  granite  fronts  of  the  sepa- 
rate isles  detached  themselves  from  the  plane  in  which 
they  were  blended,  and  thrust  boldly  out  between  the  divid- 
ing inlets  of  blue  water ;  the  lighter  green  of  birches  and 
maples  mingled  with  the  sombre  woods  of  coniferae  ;  but  the 
picture,  with  all  its  varied  features,  was  silent  and  lonely. 
No  sail  shone  over  the  lake,  no  boat  was  hauled  up  between 
the  tumbled  masses  of  rock,  no  fisher's  hut  sat  in  the  shel- 
tered coves  —  only,  at  the  highest  point  of  the  cliff",  a  huge 
wooden  cross  gleamed  white  against  the  trees. 

As  we  drew  around  to  the  northern  shore,  point  came  out 
behind  point,  all  equally  bold  with  rock,  dark  with  pines, 
and  destitute  of  any  sign  of  habitation.  We  were  looking 
forward,  over  the  nearest  headland,  when,  all  at  once,  a 
sharp  glitter  through  the  tops  of  the  pines  struck  our  eyes. 
A  few  more  turns  of  the  paddles,  and  a  bulging  dome  of 
gold  flashed  splendidly  in  the  sun  !  Our  voyage,  thus  far, 
had  been  one  of  surprises,  and  this  was  not  the  least. 
Crowning  a  slender,  pointed  roof,  its  connection  with  the 
latter  was  not  immediately  visible  :  it  seemed  to  spring 
into  the  air  and  hang  there,  like  a  marvelous  meteor  shot 
from  the  sun.  Presently,  however,  the  whole  building  ap- 
peared, —  an  hexagonal  church,  of  pale  red  brick,  the 
architecture  of  which  was  an  admirable  reproduction  of  the 
(dder  Byzantine  forms.     It  stood   upon   a  rocky  islet,  on 


88  BY-WAYS    OF    EITROPE. 

either  side  of  which  a  narrow  channel  convnunicated  with 
a  deep  cove,  cleft  between  walls  of  rock. 

Turning  in  towards  the  first  of  these  channels,  we  pre8 
ently  saw  the  inlet  of  darkest-blue  water,  pushing  its  way 
into  the  heart  of  the  island.  Crowning  its  eastern  bank, 
and  about  half  a  mile  distant,  stood  an  immense  mass  of 
buildings,  from  the  centre  of  which  tall  white  towers  and 
green  cupolas  shot  up  against  the  sky.  This  was  the  mon- 
astery of  Valaam.  Here,  in  the  midst  of  this  lonely  lake, 
on  the  borders  of  the  Arctic  Zone,  in  the  solitude  of  un- 
hewn forests,  was  one  of  those  palaces  which  religion  is  so 
fond  of  rearing,  to  show  her  humility.  In  the  warm  after- 
noon sunshine,  and  with  the  singular  luxuriance  of  vegft- 
tation  which  clothed  the  terraces  of  rock  on  either  hand, 
we  forgot  the  high  latitude,  and,  but  for  the  pines  in  the 
rear,  could  have  fancied  ourselves  approaching  some  cove 
of  Athos  or  Euboea.  The  steamer  ran  so  near  the  rocky 
walls  that  the  trailing  branches  of  the  birch  almost  swept 
her  deck ;  every  ledge  traversing  their  gray,  even  ma- 
sonry, was  crowded  with  wild  red  pinks,  geranium,  saxi- 
frage, and  golden-flowered  purslane  ;  and  the  air,  wonder- 
fully pure  and  sweet  in  itself,  was  flavored  with  delicate 
woodland  odors.  On  the  other  side,  under  the  monastery, 
was  an  orchard  of  large  apple-trees  in  full  bloom,  on  a 
shelf  near  the  water ;  above  them  grew  huge  oaks  and 
maples,  heavy  with  their  wealth  of  foliage ;  and  over  the 
tops  of  these  the  level  coping  of  the  precipice,  with  a  bal- 
ustrade upon  which  hundreds  of  pilgrims,  who  had  arrived 
before  us,  were  leaning  and  looking  down. 

Beyond  this  point,  the  inlet  widened  into  a  basin  where 
the  steamer  had  room  to  turn  around.  Here  we  found 
some  forty  or  fifty  boats  moored  to  the  bank,  while  the 
passengers  they  had  brought  (principally  from  the  eastern 
shore  of  the  lake,  and  the  district  lying  between  it  and 
Onega)  were  scattered  over  the  heights.  .  The  captain 
pointed  out  to  us  a  stately,  two-story  brick   edifice,  some 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  8S 

three  hundred  feet  long,  flanking  the  monastery,  as  the 
house  for  guests.  Another  of  less  dimensions,  on  the  hill 
in  front  of  the  landing-place,  appeared  to  be  appropriated 
especially  to  the  use  of  the  peasants.  A  rich  succession  of 
musical  chimes  pealed  down  to  us  from  the  belfry,  as  if  in 
welcome,  and  our  deck  load  of  pilgrims  crossed  themselves 
in  reverent  congratulation  as  they  stepped  upon  the  sacred 
soil. 

We  had  determined  to  go  on  with  our  boat  to  Serdopol, 
at  the  head  of  the  lake,  returning  the  next  morning  in 
season  for  the  solemnities  of  the  anniversary.  Postponing 
therefore,  a  visit  to  the  church  and  monastery,  we  climbed 
to  the  summit  of  the  bluff,  and  beheld  the  inlet  in  all  its 
length  and  depth,  from  the  open,  sunny  expanse  of  the 
lake  to  the  dark  strait  below  us,  where  the  overhanging 
trees  of  the  opposite  cliffs  almost  touched  above  the  water. 
The  honeyed  bitter  of  lilac  and  apple  blossoms  in  the 
garden  below  steeped  the  air ;  and  as  I  inhaled  the  scent, 
and  beheld  the  rich  green  crowns  of  the  oaks  which  grew 
at  the  base  of  the  rocks,  I  appreciated  the  wisdom  of  Ser- 
gius  and  Herrmann  that  led  them  to  pick  out  this  bit  of 
privileged  summer,  which  seems  to  have  wandered  into  the 
North  from  a  region  ten  degrees  nearer  the  sun.  It  is  not 
strange  if  the  people  attribute  miraculous  powers  to  them, 
naturally  mistaking  the  cause  of  their  settlement  on  Va- 
laam  for  its  effect. 

The  deck  was  comparatively  deserted,  as  we  once  more 
entered  the  lake.  There  were  two  or  three  new  passen 
gers,  however,  one  of  whom  inspired  me  with  a  mild  inter- 
est. He  was  a  St.  Petersburger,  who  according  to  his  own 
account,  had  devoted  himself  to  Art,  and,  probably  for 
that  reason,  felt  constrained  to  speak  in  the  language  of 
sentiment.  "  I  enjoy  above  all  things,"  said  he  to  me 
"  communion  with  Nature.  My  soul  is  uplifted,  when  I 
find  myself  removed  from  the  haunts  of  men.  I  live  an 
idiJiJ  life,  and  the  world  grows  more  beautiful  to  me  every 


40  BY-WAYS   OP  EUROPE. 

year."  Now  there  was  nothing  objectionable  in  this,  ex 
cept  the  n)anner  of  his  saying  it.  Those  are  only  shallow 
emotions  which  one  imparts  to  every  stranger  at  the  slight 
est  provocation.  Your  true  lover  of  Nature  is  as  careful 
of  betraying  his  passion  as  the  young  man  who  carries  a 
first  love  in  his  heart.  But  my  companion  evidently  de- 
lighted in  talking  of  his  feelings  on  this  point.  His  voice 
was  soft  and  silvery,  his  eyes  gentle,  and  his  air  languish 
ing ;  so  that,  in  spite  of  a  heavy  beard,  the  impression  he 
made  was  remarkably  smooth  and  unmasculine.  I  invol- 
untarily turned  to  one  of  the  young  Finnish  sailors,  with 
his  handsome,  tanned  face,  quick,  decided  movements,  and 
clean,  elastic  limbs,  and  felt,  instinctively,  that  what  we  most 
value  in  every  man,  above  even  culture  or  genius,  is  the 
stamp  of  sex  —  the  asserting,  self-reliant,  conquering  air 
which  marks  the  male  animal. 

After  some  fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from  the  island,  we 
approached  the  rocky  archipelago  in  which  the  lake  ter- 
minates at  its  northern  end  —  a  gradual  transition  from 
water  to  land.  Masses  of  gray  granite,  wooded  wherever 
the  hardy  northern  firs  could  strike  root,  rose  on  all  sides, 
divided  by  deep  and  narrow  channels.  "  This  is  the  scheer,'* 
said  our  captain,  using  a  word  which  recalled  to  my  mind, 
at  once,  the  Swedish  skdr,  and  the  English  skerry,  used 
alike  to  denote  a  coast-group  of  rocky  islets.  The  rock 
encroached  more  and  more  as  we  advanced  ;  and  finally, 
as  if  sure  of  its  victory  over  the  lake,  gave  place,  here  and 
there,  to  levels  of  turf,  gardens,  and  cottages.  Then  fol 
lowed  a  calm,  land-locked  basin,  surrounded  with  harvest- 
fields,  and  the  spire  of  Serdopol  arose  before  us. 

Of  this  town  I  may  report  that  it  is  called,  in  Finnish, 
Sordovala,  and  was  founded  about  the  year  1640.  Its  his- 
tory has  no  doubt  been  very  important  to  its  inhabitants, 
but  I  do  not  presume  that  it  would  be  interesting  to  the 
world,  and  therefore  spare  myself  a  great  deal  of  laborious 
research.     Small  as  it  is,  and  so  secluded    that   Ladogt 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  41 

■eenis  a  world's  highway  in  comparison  with  its  quiet 
harbor,  it  nevertheless  holds  three  races  and  three  lan- 
guages in  its  modest  bounds.  The  government  and  its 
tongue  are  Russian ;  the  people  are  mostly  Finnish,  with 
a  very  thin  upper-crust  of  Swedish  tradition,  whence  the 
latter  language  is  cultivated  as  a  sign  of  aristocracy. 

We  landed  on  a  broad  wooden  pier,  and  entered  the 
town  through  a  crowd  which  was  composed  of  all  these 
elements.  There  was  to  be  a  fair  on  the  morrow,  and  from 
the  northern  shore  of  the  lake,  as  well  as  the  wild  inland 
region  towards  the  Sainia,  the  people  had  collected  for 
trade,  gossip,  and  festivity.  Children  in  ragged  garments 
of  hemp,  bleached  upon  their  bodies,  impudently  begged 
for  pocket-money ;  women  in  scarlet  kerchiefs  curiously 
scrutinized  us ;  peasants  carried  bundles  of  freshly  mown 
grass  to  the  horses  which  were  exposed  for  sale  ;  ladies 
with  Hungarian  hats,  crushed  their  crinolines  into  queer 
old  cabriolets ;  gentlemen  with  business  faces  and  an  as- 
pect of  wealth  smoked  paper  cigars ;  and  numbers  of 
hucksters  offered  baskets  of  biscuit  and  cakes,  of  a  disa- 
greeable yellow  color  and  great  apparent  toughness.  It 
was  a  repetition,  with  slight  variations,  of  a  village  fair  any- 
where else,  or  an  election  day  in  America. 

Passing  through  the  roughly  paved  and  somewhat  dirty 
streets,  past  shops  full  of  primitive  hardware,  groceries 
which  emitted  powerful  whiffs  of  salt  fish  or  new  leather, 
bakeries  with  crisp  padlocks  of  bread  in  the  windows, 
drinking-houses  plentifully  supplied  with  qvass  and  vodki. 
and,  finally,  the  one  watch-maker,  and  the  vender  of  paper, 
pens,  and  Finnish  almanacs,  we  reached  a  broad  suburban 
street,  whose  substantial  houses,  with  their  courts  and 
gardens,  hinted  at  the  aristocracy  of  Serdopol.  The  inn, 
with  its  Swedish  sign,  was  large  and  comfortable,  and  a 
peep  into  the  open  windows  disclosed  as  pleasant  quarters 
as  a  traveller  ;ould  wish.  A  little  farther  the  town  ceased, 
and  we  found  ourselves  upon  a  rough,  sloping  common,  at 


42  BY-WATiS   OF   EUROPE. 

the  toji  of  which  stood  the  church  with  its  neighborii^ 
belfry.  It  was  unmistakably  Lutheran  in  appearance, — 
very  plain  and  massive  and  sober  in  color,  with  a  steep 
roof  for  shedding  snow.  The  only  attempt  at  ornament 
was  a  fanciful  shingle-mosaic,  but  in  pattern  only,  not  in 
color.  Across  the  common  ran  a  double  row  of  small 
booths,  which  had  just  been  erected  for  the  coming  fair ; 
and  sturdy  young  fellows  from  the  country,  with  their  rough 
carts  and  shaggy  ponies,  were  gathering  along  the  high- 
way, to  skirmish  a  little  in  advance  of  their  bargains. 

The  road  enticed  us  onwards  into  the  country.  On  our 
left,  a  long  slope  descended  to  an  upper  arm  of  the  harbor, 
the  head  of  which  we  saw  to  be  near  at  hand.  The  op- 
posite shore  was  fairly  laid  out  in  grain-fields,  through 
which  cropped  out,  here  and  there,  long  walls  of  granite, 
rising  higher  and  higher  towards  the  west,  until  they  cul- 
minated in  the  round,  hard  forehead  of  a  lofty  hill.  There 
was  no  other  point  within  easy  reach  which  promised  much 
of  a  view ;  so,  rounding  the  head  of  the  bay,  we  addressed 
ourselves  to  climbing  the  rocks,  somewhat  to  the  surprise 
of  the  herd-boys,  as  they  drove  the'r  cows  into  the  town  to 
be  milked. 

Once  off  the  cultivated  land,  we  found  the  hill  a  very 
garden  of  wild  blooms.  Every  step  and  shelf  of  the  rocks 
was  cushioned  with  tricolored  violets,  white  anemones,  and 
a  succulent,  moss-like  plant  with  a  golden  flower.  Higher 
up  there  were  sheets  of  fire-red  pinks,  and  on  the  summit 
an  unbroken  carpet  of  the  dwarf  whortleberry,,with  its 
waxen  bells.  Light  exhalations  seemed  to  rise  from  the 
damp  hollows,  and  drift  towards  us ;  but  they  resolved 
themselves  into  swarms  of  mosquitoes,  and  would  have 
made  the  hill-top  untenable,  had  they  not  been  dispersed 
by  a  sudden  breeze.  We  sat  down  upon  a  rock  and  con- 
templated the  wide-spread  panorama.  It  was  nine  o'clock, 
and  the  sun,  near  his  setting,  cast  long  gleams  of  pale 
light  through  the  clouds,  scftening  the  green  of  the  fieldf 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  48 

and  forests  where  they  fell,  and  turning  the  moist  evening 
haze  into  lustrous  pearl.  Inlets  of  the  lake  here  and  there 
crept  in  between  the  rocky  hills ;  broad  stretches  of 
gently  undulating  grain-land  were  dotted  with  the  houses, 
bams,  and  clustered  stables  of  the  Finnish  farmers  ;  in  the 
distance  arose  the  smokes  of  two  villages ;  and  beyond  all, 
as  we  looked  inland,  ran  the  sombre  ridges  of  the  fir-clad 
hills.  Below  us,  on  the  right,  the  yellow  houses  of  the 
town  shone  in  the  subdued  light,  —  the  only  bright  spot  in 
the  landscape,  which  elsewhere  seemed  to  be  overlaid  with 
a  tint  of  dark,  transparent  gray.  It  was  wonderfully  silent 
Not  a  bird  twittered ;  no  bleat  of  sheep  or  low  of  cattle 
was  heard  from  the  grassy  fields  ;  no  shout  of  children,  or 
evening  hail  from  the  returning  boats  of  the  fishers.  Ovei 
all  the  land  brooded  an  atmosphere  of  sleep,  of  serene, 
perpetual  peace.  To  sit  and  look  upon  it  was  in  itself  a 
refreshment  like  that  of  healthy  slumber.  The  restless 
devil  which  lurks  in  the  human  brain  was  quieted  for  the 
time,  and  we  dreamed — knowing  all  the  while  the  vanity 
of  the  dream  —  of  a  pastoral  life  in  some  such  spot,  among 
as  ignorant  and  simple-hearted  a  people,  ourselves  as  un- 
troubled by  the  agitations  of  the  world. 

"We  had  scarce  inhaled  —  or,  rather,  insuded,  to  coin  a 
word  for  a  sensation  which  seems  to  enter  at  every  pore  — 
the  profound  quiet  and  its  suggestive  fancies  for  the  space 
of  half  an  hour,  when  the  wind  fell  at  the  going  down  of 
the  sun,  and  the  humming  mist  of  mosquitoes  arose  again. 
Returning  to  the  town,  we  halted  at  the  top  of  the  common 
to  watch  the  farmers  of  the  neighborhood  at  their  horse- 
dealing.  Very  hard,  keen,  weather-browned  faces  had 
they,  eyes  tight-set  for  the  main  chance,  mouths  worn  thin 
by  biting  farthings,  and  hands  whose  hard  fingers  crooked 
with  holding  fast  what  they  had  earned.  Faces  almost  of 
the  Yankee  type,  many  of  them,  and  relieved  by  the  twink 
ling  of  a  humorous  faculty  or  the  wild  gleam  of  imagina 
tion.     The  shaggy  little  horses,  of  a  dun  or  dull  tan-color 


44  BY-WAYS   OF   EUhOPE. 

seemed  lo  understand  that  their  best  performance  was  re- 
quired, and  rushed  up  and  down  the  road  with  an  amazing 
exhibition  of  mettle.  I  could  understand  nothing  of  the 
Finnish  tongue  except  its  music;  but  it  was  easy  to  per- 
ceive that  the  remarks  of  the  crowd  were  shrewd,  intelli 
gent,  and  racy.  One  young  fellow,  less  observant,  a© 
costed  us  in  the  hope  that  we  might  be  purchasers.  The 
boys,  suspecting  that  we  were  as  green  as  we  were  evi- 
dently foreign,  held  out  their  hands  for  alms,  with  a  very 
unsuccessful  air  of  distress,  but  readily  succumbed  to  the 
Russian  interjection  ^^proch  !  "  (be  off  !)  the  repetition  of 
which,  they  understood,  was  a  reproach. 

That  night  we  slept  on  the  velvet  couches  of  the  cabin, 
having  the  spacious  apartment  to  ourselves.  The  bright 
young  officer  had  left  for  the  copper  mines,  the  pilgrims 
were  at  Valaam,  and  our  stout,  benignant  captain  looked 
upon  us  as  his  only  faithful  passengers.  The  stewards,  in- 
deed, carried  their  kindness  beyond  reasonable  anticipa- 
tions. They  brought  us  real  pillows  and  other  con- 
veniences, bolted  the  doors  against  nightly  intruders,  and 
in  the  morning  conducted  us  into  the  pantry,  to  wash  our 
faces  in  the  basin  sacred  to  dishes.  After  I  had  com- 
pleted my  ablutions,  I  turned  dumbly,  with  dripping  face 
and  extended  hands,  for  a  towel.  My  steward  understood 
the  silent  appeal,  and,  taking  a  napkin  from  a  plate  of 
bread,  presented  it  with  alacrity.  I  made  use  of  it,  I  con- 
fess, but  hastened  out  of  the  pantry,  lest  I  should  happen 
to  see  it  restored  to  its  former  place.  How  not  to  observe 
is  a  faculty  as  necessary  to  the  traveller  as  its  reverse. 
I  was  reminded  of  this  truth  at  dinner,  when  I  saw  the 
same  steward  take  a  napkin  (probably  my  towel !)  from 
under  his  arm,  to  wipe  both  his  face  and  a  plate  which  he 
carried.  To  speak  mildly,  these  people  on  Lake  Ladoga 
are  not  sensitive  in  regard  to  the  contact  of  individualities. 
But  the  main  point  is  to  avoid  seeing  what  you  don't  like. 

We  got  off  at  an  early  hour,  and  hastenedf  back  to  V»- 


A    CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  45 

laam  over  glassy  water  and  under  a  superb  sky.  This 
time  the  lake  was  not  so  deserted,  for  the  white  wings  t>{ 
pilgrim-boats  drew  in  towards  the  dark  island,  making  for 
the  golden  sparkle  of  the  chapel  dome,  which  shone  afar 
like  a  light-house  of  the  day-time.  As  we  rounded  to  in 
the  land-locked  inlet,  we  saw  that  the  crowds  on  the  hills 
had  doubled  since  yesterday,  and,  although  the  chimes 
were  pealing  fo:  some  religious  service,  it  seemed  prudent 
first  to  make  sure  of  our  quarters  for  the  night.  Accord- 
ingly we  set  out  for  the  imposing  house  of  guests  beside 
the  monastery,  arriving  in  company  with  the  visitors  we 
had  brought  with  us  from  Serdopol.  The  entrance-hall 
led  into  a  long,  stone-paved  corridor,  in  which  a  monk,  be- 
wildered by  many  applications,  appeared  to  be  seeking  re- 
lief by  promises  of  speedy  hospitality.  We  put  in  our 
plea,  and  also  received  a  promise.  On  either  side  of  the 
corridor  were  numbered  rooms,  already  occupied,  the  for- 
tunate guests  passing  in  and  out  with  a  provoking  air  of 
comfort  and  unconcern.  We  ascended  to  the  second  story, 
which  was  similarly  arranged,  and  caught  hold  of  another 
benevolent  monk,  willing,  but  evidently  powerless  to  help 
us.  Dinner  was  just  about  to  be  served;  the  brother  in 
authority  was  not  there ;  we  must  be  good  enough  to  wait 
a  little  while  ;  —  would  we  not  visit  the  shrines,  in  the 
mean  time  ? 

The  advice  was  sensible,  as  well  as  friendly,  and  we  fol- 
lowed it.  Entering  the  great  quadrangle  of  the  monas- 
tery, we  found  it  divided,  gridiron-fashion,  into  long,  nar- 
row court-yards  by  inner  lines  of  buildings.  The  central 
court,  however,  was  broad  and  spacious,  the  church  occu- 
pying a  rise  of  ground  on  the  eastern  side.  Hundreds  of 
men  and  women  —  Carelian  peasants  —  thronged  around 
the  entrance,  crossing  themselves  in  unison  with  the  con- 
gregation. Tlie  church,  we  found,  was  packed,  and  the 
most  zealous  wedging  among  the  blue  caftans  and  shining 
flaxen  heads  brought  us  no  farther  than  the  inner  door. 


46  BY-WAYS   Ol    EUROPE. 

Thence  we  looked  over  a  tufted  level  of  heads  that  seemed 
to  touch  —  intermingled  tints  of  gold,  tawny,  siVver-blond, 
and  the  various  shades  of  brown,  touched  with  dim  glosses 
through  the  incense-smoke,  and  Qccasionally  bending  ip 
concert,  with  an  undulating  movement,  like  grain  before 
the  wind.  Over  these  heads  rose  the  vaulted  nave,  daz- 
zling with  gold  and  colors,  and  blocked  up,  beyond  the  in- 
tersection of  the  transept,  by  the  ikonostast,  or  screen 
before  the  Holy  of  Holies,  gorgeous  with  pictures  of  saints 
overlaid  with  silver.  In  front  of  the  screen  the  tapers 
burned,  the  incense  rose  thick  and  strong,  and  the  chant 
of  the  monks  gave  a  peculiar  solemnity  to  their  old  Scla- 
vonic litany.  The  only  portion  of  it  which  I  could  under- 
stand was  the  recurring  response,  as  in  the  English  Church, 
of  "  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us  !  " 

Extricating  ourselves  with  some  difficulty,  we  entered  a 
chapel-crypt,  which  contains  the  bodies  of  Sergius  and 
Herrmann.  They  lie  together,  in  a  huge  coffin  of  silver, 
covered  with  cloth  of  gold.  Tapers  of  immense  size  burned 
at  the  head  and  foot,  and  the  pilgrims  knelt  around,  bend- 
ing their  foreheads  to  the  pavement  at  the  close  of  their 
prayers.  Among  others,  a  man  had  brought  his  insane 
daughter,  and  it  was  touching  to  see  the  tender  care  with 
which  he  led  her  to  the  coffin  and  directed  her  devotions. 
So  much  of  habit  still  remained,  that  it  seemed,  for  the 
time  being,  to  restore  her  reason.  The  quietness  and  reg- 
ularity with  which  she  went  through  the  forms  of  prayer, 
brought  a  light  of  hope  to  the  father's  face.  The  other 
peasants  looked  on  with  an  expression  of  pity  and  sym- 
pathy. The  girl,  we  learned,  had  but  recently  lost  her 
reason,  and  without  any  apparent  cause.  She  was  be- 
trothed to  a  }oung  man  who  was  sincerely  attached  to  her, 
and  the  pilgrimage  was  undertaken  in  the  hope  that  a  mir- 
acle might  be  wrought  in  her  favor.  The  presence  of 
the  shrine,  indeed,  struck  its  accustomed  awe  through  hef 
wandering  senses,  but  the  effect  was  only  •..lomentary. 


A   CKUISE  ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  47 

I  anproached  the  coffin,  and  deposited  a  piece  of  inone;y 
on  the  offering- pi  ate,  for  the  purpose  of  getting  a  glimpse 
of  the  pictured  faces  of  the  saints,  in  their  silver  setting. 
Their  features  were  hard  and  regular,  flatly  painted,  as  if 
by  some  forerunner  of  Cimabue,  but  sufficiently  modern  to 
make  the  likeness  doubtful.  I  have  not  been  able  to  obtain 
the  exact  date  of  their  settlement  on  the  island,  but  I  be- 
lieve it  is  referred  to  the  early  part  of  the  fifleenth  century. 
The  common  people  believe  that  the  island  was  first  vi.sited 
by  Andrew,  the  Apostle  of  Christ,  who,  according  to  the 
Russian  patriarch  Nestor,  made  his  way  to  Kiev  and  Nov- 
gorod. The  latter  place  is  known  to  have  been  an  impor- 
tant commercial  city  as  early  as  the  fourth  century,  and 
had  a  regular  intercourse  with  Asia.  The  name  of  Valaam 
does  not  come  from  Balaam,  as  one  might  suppose,  but 
seems  to  be  derived  from  the  Finnish  varamo,  which  sig- 
nifies "  herring-ground."  The  more  I  attempted  to  unravel 
the  history  of  the  island,  the  more  it  became  involved  in 
obscurity,  and  this  fact,  I  must  confess,  only  heightened  my 
interest  in  it.  I  found  myself  ready  to  accept  the  tradition 
of  Andrew's  visit,  and  I  accepted  without  a  doubt  the  grave 
of  King  Magnus  of  Sweden. 

On  issuing  from  the  crypt,  we  encountered  a  young 
monk  who  had  evidently  been  sent  in  search  of  us.  The 
mass  was  over,  and  the  court-yard  was  nearly  em-ptied  of 
its  crowd.  In  the  farther  court,  however,  we  found  the 
people  more  dense  than  ever,  pressing  forward  towards  a 
small  door.  The  monk  made  way  for  us  with  some  diffi- 
culty —  for,  though  the  poor  fellows  did  their  best  to  fall 
back,  the  pressure  from  the  outside  was  tremendous 
Having  at  last  run  the  gauntlet,  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
refectory  of  the  monastery,  inhaling  a  thick  steam  of  fish 
and  cabbage.  Three  long  tables  were  filled  with  monks 
and  pilgrims,  while  the  attendants  brought  in  the  fish  on 
large  wooden  trenchers.  The  plates  were  of  common  wtnte 
ware,  but  the  spoons  were  of  wood.     Officers  in  gay  irni- 


48  BY-WAYS    OF  EUROPE. 

forms  were  scattered  among  the  dark  anchorites,  ytao  o^ 
cupied  one  end  of  the  table,  while  the  bourgeoisie,  with 
here  and  there  a  blue-caftaned  peasant  wedged  among 
thom,  filled  the  other  end.  They  were  eating  with  great 
zeal,  while  an  old  priest,  standing,  read  from  a  Sclavonic 
Bible.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  us  as  we  entered,  and 
there  was  not  a  vacant  chair  in  which  we  could  hide  our 
intrusion.  It  was  rather  embarrassing,  especially  as  the 
young  monk  insisted  that  we  should  remain,  and  the  curious 
eyes  of  the  eaters  as  constantly  asked,  "  Who  are  these, 
and  what  do  they  want?"  We  preferred  returning  through 
the  hungry  crowd,  and  made  our  way  to  the  guests'  house. 

Here  a  similar  process  was  going  on.  The  corridors 
were  thronged  with  peasants  of  all  ages  and  both  sexes, 
and  the  good  fathers,  more  than  ever  distracted,  were  in- 
capable of  helping  us.  Seeing  a  great  crowd  piled  up 
against  a  rear  basement-door,  we  descended  the  stairs,  and 
groped  our  way  through  manifold  steams  and  noises  to  a 
huge  succession  of  kitchens,  where  cauldrons  of  cabbage 
were  bubbling,  and  shoals  of  fish  went  in  raw  and  came 
out  cooked.  In  another  room  some  hundreds  of  peasants 
were  eating  with  all  the  energy  of  a  primitive  appetite. 
Soup  leaked  out  of  the  bowls  as  if  they  had  been  sieves ; 
fishes  gave  a  whisk  of  the  tail  and  vanished ;  great  round 
boulders  of  bread  went  off,  layer  after  layer,  and  still  the 
3mpty  plates  were  held  up  for  more.  It  was  grand  eating, 
—  pure  appetite,  craving  only  food  in  a  general  sense :  no 
picking  out  of  tidbits,  no  spyii.g  here  and  there  for  a  fa- 
vorite dish,  but,  like  a  huge  fire,  devouring  everything  that 
came  in  its -way.  The  stomach  was  here  a  patient,  unques- 
tioning serf,  not  a  master  full  of  whims,  requiring  to  be 
petted  and  conciliated.  So,  I  thought,  people  must  have 
eaten  in  the  Golden  Age :  so  Adam  and  Eve  nmst  have 
dined,  before  the  fall  made  them  epicurean  and  dyspeptic. 

We  —  degenerate  through  culture  —  found  the  steams  of 
the  strong,  coarse  dishes  rather  unpleasant,  and  retreated 


A    CRUISE   ON   LAKE  LADOGA.  49 

by  a  back  wav,  which  brought  us  to  a  spiral  staircase.  Wo 
ascended  for  a  long  time,  and  finally  emerged  into  the  gar- 
ret of  the  building,  hot,  close,  and  strawy  as  a  barn-loft. 
It  was  divided  into  rooms,  in  which,  on  the  floors  covered 
deep  with  straw,  the  happy  pilgrims  who  had  finished  thelJ 
dinner  were  lying  on  their  bellies,  lazily  talking  themselves 
to  sleep.  The  grassy  slope  in  front  of  the  house,  and  all 
the  neighboring  heights,  were  soon  covered  in  like  manner. 
Men,  women,  and  children  threw  themselves  down,  drawing 
off  their  heavy  boots,  and  dipping  their  legs,  knee-deep, 
into  the  sun  and  air.  An  atmosphere  of  utter  peace  and 
satisfaction  settled  over  them. 

Being  the  only  foreign  and  heterodox  persons  present, 
we  began  to  feel  ourselves  deserted,  when  the  favor  of  Ser- 
gius  and  Herrmann  was  again  manifested.  P.  was  suddenly 
greeted  by  an  acquaintance,  an  officer  connected  with  the 
Imperial  Court,  who  had  come  to  Valaam  for  a  week  of  de- 
votion. He  immediately  interested  himself  in  our  behalf 
procured  us  a  room  with  a  lovely  prospect,  transferred  his 
bouquet  of  lilacs  and  peonies  to  our  table,  and  produced 
his  bottle  of  lemon-syrup  to  flavor  our  tea.  The  rules  of 
the  monastery  are  very  strict,  and  no  visitor  is  exempt  from 
their  observance.  Not  a  fish  can  be  caught,  not  a  bird  or 
beast  shot,  no  wine  or  liquor  of  any  kind,  nor  tobacco  in 
any  form,  used  on  the  island.  Rigid  as  the  organization 
seems,  it  bears  equally  on  every  member  of  the  brother- 
hood :  the  equality  upon  which  such  associations  were  orig- 
inally based  is  here  preserved.  The  monks  are  only  in 
an  ecclesiastical  sense  subordinate  to  the  abbot.  Other- 
wise, the  fraternity  seems  to  be  about  as  complete  as  in  the 
early  days  of  Christianity. 

The  Valamo,  and  her  rival,  the  Letuchie,  had  advertised 
a  trip  to  the  Holy  Island,  the  easternmost  of  the  Valaam 
group,  some  six  miles  from  the  monastery,  and  the  weather 
was  so  fair  that  both  boats  were  crowded,  many  of  the 
monks  accompanying  us.     Our  new-found  friend  was  also 


50  BY-WAVS  OF   EUROPE. 

of  the  party,  and  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  Finnish 
student  from  the  Lyceum  at  Kuopio,  who  gave  me  descrip- 
tions of  the  Saima  Lake  and  the  wilds  of  Savolax.  Run- 
ning eastward  along  the  headlands,  we  passed  Chernoi 
Noss  (Black-Nose),  the  name  of  which  again  recalled  a 
term  common  in  the  Orkneys  and  Shetlands  —  noss,  there, 
signifying  a  headland.  The  Holy  Island  rose  before  us, 
a  circular  pile  of  rock,  crowned  with  wood,  like  a  huge, 
unfinished  tower  of  Cyclopean  masonry,  built  up  out  of  the 
deep  water.  Far  beyond  it,  over  the  rim  of  the  lake,  glim- 
mered the  blue  eastern  shore.  As  we  drew  near,  we  found 
that  the  tumbled  fragments  of  rock  had  been  arranged, 
with  great  labor,  to  form  a  capacious  foot-path  around  the 
base  of  the  island.  The  steamers  drew  up  against  this 
narrow  quay,  upon  which  we  landed,  under  a  granite  wall 
which  rose  perpendicularly  to  the  height  of  seventy  or 
eighty  feet.  The  firs  on  the  summit  grew  out  to  the  very 
edge  and  stretched  their  dark  arms  over  us.  Every  cran- 
ny of  the  rock  was  filled  with  tufts  of  white  and  pink 
flowers,  and  the  moisture,  trickling  from  above,  betrayed 
itself  in  long  lines  of  moss  and  fern. 

I  followed  the  pilgrims  around  to  the  sunny  side  of  the 
island,  and  found  a  wooden  staircase  at  a  point  where  the 
wall  was  somewhat  broken  away.  Reaching  the  top  of  the 
first  ascent,  the  sweet  breath  of  a  spring  woodland  breathed 
around  me.  I  looked  under  the  broken  roofage  of  the 
boughs  upon  a  blossoming  jungle  of  shrubs  and  plants  which 
seemed  to  have  been  called  into  life  by  a  more  potent  sun. 
The  lily  of  the  valley,  in  thick  beds,  poured  out  the  deli- 
cious sweetness  of  its  little  cups  ;  spikes  of  a  pale-green 
orchis  emitted  a  rich  cinnamon  odor  ;  anemones,  geraniums, 
sigillarias,  and  a  feathery  flower,  white,  freckled  with  pur- 
ple, grew  in  profusion.  The  top  of  the  island,  five  or  six 
acres  in  extent,  was  a  slanting  plane,  looking  to  the  south, 
whence  it  received  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun.  It  was 
ao  enchinting   picture  of  woodland  bloom,  lighted  with 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  61 

sprinkled  sunshine,  in  the  cold  blue  setting  of  the  lake, 
which  was  visible  on  all  sides,  between  the  boles  of  the 
trees.  I  hailed  it  as  an  idyl  of  the  North  —  a  poetic 
secret,  which  the  earth,  even  where  she  is  most  cruelly 
material  and  cold,  still  tenderly  hides  and  cherishes. 

A  peasant,  whose  scarlet  shirt  flashed  through  the  bushe? 
like  a  sudden  fire,  seeing  me  looking  at  the  flowers, 
gathered  a  handful  of  lilies,  which  he  offered  to  me,  saying, 
^''  Prekras7iie"  (beautiful).  Without  waiting  for  thanks,  he 
climbed  a  second  flight  of  steps  and  suddenly  disappeared 
from  view.  I  followed,  and  found  myself  in  front  of  a  nar- 
row aperture  in  a  rude  wall,  which  had  been  built  up  under 
an  overhanging  mass  of  rocks.  A  lamp  was  twinkling 
within,  and  presently  several  persons  crawled  out,  crossing 
themselves  and  muttering  prayers. 

•'  What  is  this  ?  "  asked  a  person  who  had  just  arrived. 

"  The  cave  of  Alexander  Svirski,"  was  the  answer. 

Alexander  of  the  Svir  —  a  river  flowing  from  the  Onega 
Lake  into  Ladoga  —  was  a  hermit  who  lived  for  twenty 
years  on  the  Holy  Island,  inhabiting  the  hole  before  us 
through  the  long,  dark,  terrible  winters,  in  a  solitude 
broken  only  when  the  monks  of  Valaam  came  over  the  ice 
to  replenish  his  stock  of  provisions.  Verily,  the  hermits 
of  the  Thebaid  were  Sybarites,  compared  to  this  man ! 
There  are  still  two  or  three  hermits  who  have  charge  of 
outlying  chapels  on  the  islands,  and  live  wholly  secluded 
from  their  brethren.  They  wear  dresses  covered  with 
crosses  and  other  symbols,  and  are  considered  as  dead  to 
the  world.  The  ceremony  which  consecrates  them  for 
this  service  is  that  for  the  burial  of  the  dead. 

I  managed,  with  some  difficulty,  to  creep  into  Alexandei 
Svirski's  den.  I  saw  nothing,  however,  but  the  old,  smoky, 
and  sacred  picture  before  which  the  lamp  burned.  The 
rocky  roof  was  so  low  that  I  could  not  stand  upright,  and 
all  the  walls  I  could  find  were  the  bodies  of  pilgrims  who 
had  squeezed  \u  before  me.    A  confused  whisper  surrounded 


52  BY-WAYS   OF   5UB0PE. 

me  in  the  darkness,  and  the  air  was  intolerably  close.  1 
therefore  made  my  escape  and  mounted  to  the  chapel,  on 
the  highest  part  of  the  island.  A  little  below  it,  an  open 
pavilion,  with  seats,  has  been  built  over  the  sacred  spring 
from  which  the  hermit  drank  and  thither  the  pilgrims 
thronged.  The  water  was  served  in  a  large  wooden  bowl, 
and  each  one  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  before  drinking. 
By  waiting  for  my  turn  I  ascertained  that  the  spring  was 
icy-cold,  and  very  pure  and  sweet 

I  found  myself  lured  to  the  highest  cliff,  whence  I  could 
look  out,  through  the  trees,  on  the  far,  smooth  disk  of  the 
lake.  Smooth  and  fair  as  the  ^gean  it  lay  before  me,  and 
the  trees  were  silent  as  olives  at  noonday  on  the  shores  of 
Cos.  But  how  different  in  color,  in  sentiment !  Here, 
perfect  sunshine  can  never  dust  the  water  with  the  purple 
bloom  of  the  South,  can  never  mellow  its  hard,  cold  tint  of 
greenish-blue.  The  distant  hills,  whether  dark  or  light, 
are  equally  cold,  and  are  seen  too  nakedly  through  the 
crystal  air  to  admit  of  any  illusion.  Bracing  as  is  this 
atmosphere,  the  gods  could  never  breathe  it.  It  would 
revenge  on  the  ivory  limbs  of  Apollo  his  treatment  of 
Marsyas.  No  foam-born  Aphrodite  could  rise  warm  from 
yonder  wave  ;  not  even  the  cold,  sleek  Nereids  could  breast 
its  keen  edge.  We  could  only  imagine  it  disturbed,  tem- 
porarily, by  the  bath-plunge  of  hardy  Vikings,  who  must 
have  come  out  from  it  red  and  tingling  from  head  to  heel. 
"  Come  !  "  cried  P.,  "  the  steamer  is  about  to  leave  !  " 
We  all  wandered  down  the  steps,  I  with  my  lilies  in  my 
hand.  Even  the  rough  peasants  seemed  reluctant  to  leave 
the  spot,  and  not  wholly  for  the  sake  of  Alexander  Svirski. 
We  were  all  safely  embarked  and  carried  back  to  Valaam, 
leaving  the  island  to  its  solitude.  Alexis  (as  I  shall  call 
our  Russian  friend)  put  us  in  charge  of  a  native  artist  who 
knew  every  hidden  beauty  of  Valaam,  and  suggested  an 
exploration  of  the  inlet,  while  he  went  back  to  his  devo- 
tions.    We   borrowed  a  boat  from    the  monks,   and   im- 


A   CBUISK   ON   LAKE  LADOGA.  53 

pressed  a  hardy  fisherman  into  our  service.  I  supposed 
we  had  already  seen  the  extent  of  the  inlet,  but  on  reach- 
ing its  head  a  narrow  side-channel  disclosed  itself,  passing 
away  under  a  quaint  bridge  and  opening  upon  an  inner 
lake  of  astonishing  beauty.  The  rocks  were  disposed  in 
every  variety  of  grouping  —  sometimes  rising  in  even  ter- 
races, step  above  step,  sometimes  thrusting  out  a  sheer 
wall  from  the  summit,  or  lying  slantwise  in  masses  split  oflf 
by  the  wedges  of  the  ice.  The  fairy  birches,  in  their  thin 
foliage,  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  water  like  Dryads  undress- 
ing for  a  bath,  while  the  shaggy  male  firs  elbowed  each 
other  on  the  heights  for  a  look  at  them.  Other  channels 
opened  in  the  distance,  with  glimpses  of  other  and  as  beau- 
tiful harbors  in  the  heart  of  the  islands.  "  You  may  sail 
for  seventy-five  versts,"  said  the  painter,  "  without  seeing 
them  all." 

The  fearlessness  of  all  wild  creatures  showed  that  the 
rules  of  the  good  monks  had  been  carefully  obeyed.  The 
wild  ducks  swam  around  our  boat,  or  brooded,  in  conscious 
security,  on  their  nests  along  the  shore.  Three  great 
herons,  fishing  in  a  shallow,  rose  slowly  into  the  air  and 
flew  across  the  water,  breaking  the  silence  with  their  hoarse 
trumpet  note.  Further  in  the  woods  there  are  herds  of 
wild  reindeer,  which  are  said  to  have  become  gradually 
tame.  This  familiarity  of  the  animals  took  away  from  the 
islands  all  that  was  repellent  in  their  solitude.  It  half  re- 
stored the  broken  link  between  man  and  the  subject  forms 
of  life. 

The  sunset  light  was  on  the  trees  when  we  started,  bu: 
here  in  the  North  it  is  no  fleeting  glow.  It  lingers  for 
hours  even,  fading  so  imperceptibly  that  you  scarcely  know 
when  it  has  ceased.  Thus,  when  we  returned  after  a  long 
pull,  craving  the  Lenten  fare  of  the  monastery,  the  same 
soft  gold  tinted  its  clustering  domes.  We  were  not  called 
upon  to  visit  the  refectory,  but  a  table  was  prepared  in  our 
room.     The  first  dish  had  the  appearance  of  a  salad,  with 


64  BY-WAYS  OF  EUBOPE. 

the  accompaniment  of  black  bread.  On  carefully  tastings 
I  discovered  the  ingredients  to  be  raw  salt  fish  chopped 
fine,  cucumbers,  and  —  beer.  The  taste  of  the  first  spoon- 
ful was  peculiar,  of  the  second  tolerable,  of  the  third  de- 
cidedly palatable.  Beyond  this  I  did  not  go,  for  we  had 
fresh  fish,  boiled  in  enough  water  to  make  a  soup.  Then 
the  same,  fried  in  its  own  fat,  and,  as  salt  and  pepper  were 
allowed,  we  did  not  scorn  our  supper. 

The  next  day  was  the  festival  of  Peter  and  Paul,  and 
Alexis  had  advised  us  to  make  an  excursion  to  a  place 
called  Jelesniki.  In  the  morning,  however,  we  learned 
that  the  monastery  and  its  grounds  were  to  be  consecrated 
in  solemn  procession.  The  chimes  pealed  out  quick  and 
joyously,  and  soon  a  burst  of  banners  and  a  cloud  of  in- 
cense issued  from  the  great  gate.  All  the  pilgrims  — 
nearly  two  thousand  in  number  —  thronged  around  the 
double  line  of  chanting  monks,  and  it  was  found  necessary 
to  inclose  the  latter  in  a  hollow  square,  formed  by  a  linked 
chain  of  hands.  As  the  morning  sun  shone  on  the  bare- 
headed multitude,  the  beauty  of  their  unshorn  hair  struck 
me  like  a  new  revelation.  Some  of  the  heads,  of  lustrous, 
flossy  gold,  actually  shone  by  their  own  light.  It  was 
marvelous  that  skin  so  hard  and  coarse  in  texture  should 
produce  such  beautiful  h^ir.  The  beards  of  the  men,  also, 
were  strikingly  soft  and  rich.  They  never  shave,  and  thus 
avoid  bristles,  the  down  of  adolescence  thickening  into  a 
natural  beard. 

As  the  procession  approached,  Alexis,  who  was  walking 
behind  the  monks,  inside  the  protecting  guard,  beckoned 
to  us  to  join  him.  The  peasants  respectfully  made  way, 
two  hands  unlinked  to  admit  us,  and  we  became,  unex- 
pectedly, participants  in  the  ceremonies.  From  the  south 
side  the  procession  moved  around  to  the  east,  where  a  litany 
was  again  chanted.  The  fine  voices  of  the  monks  lost  but 
little  of  their  volume  in  the  open  air ;  there  was  no  wind, 
and  the  tapers  burned  and  the  incense  diffused  itself,  u  in 


A   CRUISE   ON   LAKE   LADOGA.  56 

the  church.  A  sacred  picture,  which  two  monks  carried 
on  a  sort  of  litter,  was  regarded  with  particular  reverence 
by  the  pilgrims,  numbers  of  whom  crept  under  the  line  of 
guards  to  snatch  a  moment's  devotion  before  it  At  e\ery 
pause  in  the  proceedings  there  was  a  rush  from  all  sides, 
and  the  poor  fellows  who  formed  the  lines  held  each  other's 
hands  with  all  their  strength.  Yet,  flushed,  sweating,  and 
exhausted  as  they  were,  the  responsibility  of  their  position 
made  them  perfectly  proud  and  happy.  They  were  the 
guardians  of  cross  and  shrine,  of  the  holy  books,  the  monks, 
and  the  abbot  himself. 

From  the  east  side  we  proceeded  to  the  north,  where 
the  dead  monks  sleep  in  their  cemetery,  high  over  the. 
watery  gorge.  In  one  corner  of  this  inclosure,  under  a 
group  of  giant  maples,  is  the  grave  of  King  Magnus  of 
Sweden,  who  is  said  to  have  perished  by  shipwreck  on  the 
island.  Here,  in  the  deep  shade,  a  solemn  mass  for  the 
dead  was  chanted.  Nothing  could  have  added  to  the  im- 
pressiveness  of  the  scene.  The  tapers  burning  under  the 
thick-leaved  boughs,  the  light  smoke  curling  up  in  the 
shade,  the  grave  voices  of  the  monks,  the  bending  heads 
of  the  beautiful-haired  crowd,  and  the  dashes  of  white, 
pink,  scarlet,  blue,  and  gold  in  their  dresses,  made  a  pic- 
ture the  solemnity  of  which  was  only  heightened  by  its 
pomp  of  color.  I  can  do  no  more  than  give  the  features ; 
the  reader  must  recombine  them  in  his  own  mind. 

The  painter  accompanied  us  to  the  place  called  Jelesniki, 
which,  after  a  walk  of  four  miles  through  the  forests,  we 
found  to  be  a  deserted  village,  with  a  chapel  on  a  rocky 
headland.  There  was  a  fine  bridge  across  the  dividing 
strait,  and  the  place  may  have  been  as  picturesque  as  it 
was  represented.  On  that  side  of  the  islands,  however, 
there  was  a  dense  fog,  and  we  could  get  no  view  beyond  a 
hundred  yards.  We  had  hoped  to  see  reindeer  in  the 
woods,  and  an  eaglo's  nest,  and  various  other  curiosities ; 
but  where  there  was  no  fog  there  "vere  mosquitoes,  and 
the  search  b^rtarao  discoiwaging. 


06  BY-WAYS   OF  EUKOPE. 

On  returning  to  the  monastery,  a  register  was  bmuglil 
to  us,  in  which,  on  looking  back  for  several  years,  we  could 
find  but  one  foreign  visitor  —  a  Frenchman.  We  judged, 
therefore,  that  the  abbot  would  possibly  expect  us  to  call 
upon  him,  and,  indeed,  the  hospitality  we  had  received  ex- 
acted it.  We  found  him  receiving  visitors  in  a  plain  but 
comfortable  room,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  building.  He 
was  a  man  of  fifty-five,  frank  and  self-possessed  in  his  man- 
ners, and  of  an  evident  force  and  individuality  of  character. 
His  reception  of  the  visitors,  among  whom  was  a  lady,  was 
at  once  courteous  and  kindly.  A  younger  monk  brought 
us  glasses  of  tea.  Inqidentally  learning  that  I  had  visited 
the  Holy  Places  in  Syria,  the  abbot  sent  for  some  pictures 
of  the  monastery  and  its  chosen  saints,  which  he  asked  me 
to  keep  as  a  souvenir  of  Valaam.  He  also  presented  each 
of  us  with  a  cake  of  unleavened  bread,  stamped  with  the 
cross,  and  with  a  triangular  piece  cut  out  of  the  top,  to 
indicate  the  Trinity.  On  parting,  he  gave  his  hand,  which 
the  orthodox  visitors  devoutly  kissed.  Before  the  steamer 
sailed,  we  received  fresh  evidence  of  his  kindness,  in  the 
present  of  three  large  loaves  of  consecrated  bread,  and  a 
bunch  of  lilacs  from  the  garden  of  the  monastery. 

Through  some  misunderstanding,  we  failed  to  dine  in 
the  refectory,  as  the  monks  desired,  and  their  hospitable 
regret  on  this  account  was  the  only  shade  on  our  enjoy- 
ment of  the  visit.  Alexis  remained,  in  order  to  complete 
his  devotions  by  partaking  of  the  Communion  on  the  fol- 
lowing Sabbath  ;  but  as  the  anniversary  solemnities  closed 
at  noon,  the  crowd  of  pilgrims  prepared  to  return  home. 
The  Valamo,  too,  sounded  her  warning  bell,  so  we  left  the 
monastery  as  friends  where  we  had  arrived  as  strangers, 
and  went  on  board.  Boat  after  boat,  gunwale-deep  with 
the  gay  Carelians,  rowed  down  the  inlet,  and  in  the  space 
of  half  an  hour  but  a  few  stragglers  were  left  of  all  the 
multitude.  Some  of  the  monks  came  down  to  say  anothei 
good-bye,  and  the  under-abbot,  blessing  R.,  made  the  sign 
of  the  cross  upon  his  brow  and  breast. 


A   CRUISE    )N   LAKE   LADOGA.  67 

When  we  reached  the  golden  dome  of  St.  Nicholas,  at 
the  outlet  of  the  harbor,  the  boats  had  set  their  sails,  and 
the  lake  was  no  longer  lonely.  Scores  of  white  wings 
gleamed  in  the  sun,  as  they  scattered  away  in  radii  from 
the  central  and  sacred  point,  some  north,  some  east,  and 
some  veering  south  around  Holy  Island.  Sergius  and 
Herrmann  gave  them  smooth  seas,  and  light,  favorable 
airs;  for  the  least  roughness  would  have  carried  them, 
overladen  as  they  were,  to  the  bottom.  Once  more  the 
bells  of  Valaam  chimed  farewell,  and  we  turned  the  point 
to  the  westward,  steering  back  to  Kexholm. 

Late  that  night  we  reached  our  old  moorage  at  Konewitz, 
and  on  Saturday,  at  the  appointed  hour,  landed  in  St 
Petersburg.  We  carried  the  white  cross  at  the  fore  as  we 
descended  the  Neva,  and  the  bells  of  the  church* j&  .ilong 
the  banks  welcomed  our  return.  And  now,  as  1  recah 
those  five  days  among  the  islands  of  the  Northern  Lake, 
I  see  that  it  is  good  to  go  or.  a  pilgrimage,  even  if  one  if 
not  a  pr.grim 


BETWEEN   EUKOPE   AND   ASIA. 


'  Pushed  oflf  from  one  shore,  and  not  yet  landed  on  the  other." 

Russian  Proverb. 


The  railroad  from  Moscow  to  Nijni-Novgorod  had  been 
opened  but  a  fortnight  before.  It  was  scarcely  finished, 
indeed ;  for,  in  order  to  facilitate  travel  during  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  Great  Fair  at  the  latter  place,  the  gaps  in 
the  line,  left  by  unbuilt  bridges,  were  filled  up  with  tempo- 
rary trestle-work.  The  one  daily  express-train  was  so 
thronged  that  it  required  much  exertion,  and  the  freest  use 
of  tho  Envoy's  prestige,  to  secure  a  private  carriage  for  our 
party.  The  sun  was  sinking  over  the  low,  hazy  ridge  of 
the  Sparrow  Hills  as  we  left  IMoscow  :  and  we  enjoyed  one 
more  glimpse  of  the  inexhaustible  splendor  of  the  city's 
thousand  golden  domes  and  pinnacles,  softened  by  lumi- 
nous smoke  and  transfigured  dust,  before  the  dark  woods 
of  fir  intervened,  and  the  twilight  sank  down  on  cold  and 
lonely  landscapes. 

Thence,  until  darkness,  there  was  nothing  more  to  claim 
attention.  Whoever  has  seen  one  landscape  of  Central 
Russia  is  familiar  with  three  fourths  of  the  whole  region. 
Nowhere  else  —  not  even  on  the  levels  of  Illinois  —  are 
the  same  features  so  constantly  reproduced.  One  long 
low  swell  of  earth  succeeds  to  another ;  it  is  rare  that  any 
other  woods  than  birch  and  fir  are  seen  ;  the  cleared  land 
presents  a  continuous  succession  of  pasture,  rye,  wheat, 
potatoes,  and  cabbages  ;  and  the  villages  are  as  like  as 
peas,  in  their  huts  of  unpainted  logs,  clustering  around  a 
white  church  with  five  green  domes.  It  is  a  monotony 
which  nothing  but  the  richest  culture  can  prevent  from  be- 
coming tiresome.  Culture  is  to  Nature  what  good  manners 
are  to  man,  rendering  poverty  of  character  endurable. 

Stationing  a  servant  at  the  door  to  prevent  intrusion  «t 


62  BY-WAYS   OK   EUROPE. 

the  way-stations,  we  let  down  the  curtains  before  our  win- 
dows, and  secured  a  comfortable  privacy  for  the  night, 
whence  we  issued  only  once,  during  a  halt  for  supper.  1 
entered  the  refreshment-room  with  very  slender  expecta 
(ions,  but  was  immediately  served  with  plump  partridges, 
tender  cutlets,  and  green  peas.  The  Russians  made  a 
rash  for  the  great  samovar  (tea-urn)  of  brass,  which  shone 
from  one  end  of  the  long  table  ;  and  presently  each  had 
his  tumbler  of  scalding  tea,  with  a  slice  of  lemon  floating 
on  the  top.  These  people  drink  beverages  of  a  tempera- 
ture which  would  take  the  skin  off  Anglo-Saxon  mouths. 
My  tongue  was  more  than  once  blistered,  on  beginning  to 
drink  after  they  had  emptied  their  glasses.  There  is  no 
station  without  its  steaming  samovar;  and  some  persons, 
I  verily  believe,  take  their  thirty-three  hot  teas  between 
Moscow  and  St.  Petersburg. 

There  is  not  much  choice  of  dishes  in  the  interior  of 
Russia  ;  but  what  one  does  get  is  sure  to  be  tolerably  good. 
Even  on  the  Beresina  and  the  Dnieper  I  have  always  fared 
better  than  at  most  of  the  places  in  our  country  where 
"  Ten  minutes  for  refreshments !  "  is  announced  day  by  day 
and  year  by  year.  Better  a  single  beef-steak,  where  ten- 
derness is,  than  a  stalled  ox,  all  gristle  and  grease.  But 
then  our  cooking  (for  the  public  at  least)  is  notoriously  the 
worst  in  the  civilized  world ;  and  I  can  safely  pronounce 
the  Russian  better,  without  commending  it  very  highly. 

Some  time  in  the  night  we  passed  the  large  town  of 
Vladimir,  and  with  the  rising  sun  were  well  on  our  way  to 
the  Volga.  I  pushed  aside  the  curtains,  and  looked  out, 
to  see  what  changes  a  night's  travel  had  wrought  in  the 
scenery.  It  was  a  pleasant  surprise.  On  the  right  stood  a 
large,  stately  residence,  embowered  in  gardens  and  orch- 
ards ;  while  beyond  it,  stretching  away  to  the  southeast, 
opened  a  broad,  shallow  valley.  The  sweeping  hills  on  either 
side  were  dotted  with  shocks  of  rye ;  and  their  thousands 
of  acres  of  stubble  shone  like  gold  in  the  level  rays.  Herdv 


BETWEEN    EUROPE   AND   AS/A.  90 

of  cattle  were  pasturing  in  the  meadows,  and  the  peasants 
(serfs  no  longer)  were  straggling  out  of  the  villages  to  their 
labor  in  the  fields.  The  crosses  and  polished  domes  of 
churches  sparkled  on  the  horizon.  Here  the  patches  of 
primitive  forest  were  of  larger  growth,  the  trunks  cleanei 
and  straighter,  than  we  had  yet  seen  Nature  was  half 
conquered,  in  spite  of  the  climate,  and,  for  the  first  time 
since  leaving  St.  Petersburg,  wore  a  habitable  aspect  I 
recognized  some  of  the  features  of  Russian  country-life 
which  Puschkin  describes  so  charmingly  in  his  poem  of 
"  Eugene  Onagin." 

The  agricultural  development  of  Russia  has  been  greatly 
retarded  by  the  indifference  of  the  nobility,  whose  vast 
estates  comprise  the  best  hmd  of  the  empire,  in  those  prov- 
inces where  improvements  might  be  most  easily  intro- 
duced. Although  a  large  portion  of  the  noble  families 
pass  their  summers  in  the  country,  they  use  the  season  as 
a  period  of  physical  and  pecuniary  recuperation  from  the 
dissipations  of  the  past,  and  preparation  for  those  of  the 
coming  winter.  Their  possessions  are  so  large  (those  of 
Count  ScheremetiefF,  for  instance,  contain  one  hundred  and 
thirty  thousand  inhabitants)  that  they  push  each  other  too 
far  apart  for  social  intercourse  ;  and  they  consequently  live 
en  deshabille,  careless  of  the  great  national  interests  in  their 
hands.  There  is  a  class  of  our  Southern  planters  which 
seems  to  have  adopted  a  very  similar  mode  of  life  —  fami- 
lies which  shabbily  starve  for  ten  months,  in  order  to  make 
a  lordly  show  at  "  the  Springs  "  for  the  other  two.     A  most 

accomplished  Russian   lady,  the  Princess  D ,  said  to 

me,  —  "  The  want  of  an  active,  intelligent  country  society 
is  our  greatest  misfortune.  Our  estates  thus  become  a  sort 
of  exile.  The  few,  here  and  there,  who  try  to  improve  the 
condition  of  the  people,  through  the  improvement  of  the 
sou,  '.'••e  not  supported  by  their  neighbors,  and  lose  heart 
The  more  we  gain  in  the  life  of  the  capital,  the  more  we 
are  oppressed  by  the  solitude  and  stagnation  of  the  life  of 
^e  country." 


64  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROI'E. 

This  open,  cheerful  region  continued  through  the  mom* 
ing.  The  railroad  was  still  a  novelty ;  and  the  peasanta 
everywhere  dropped  their  scythes  and  shovels  to  see  the 
train  pass.  Some  bowed  with  the  profoundest  gravity- 
They  were  a  fine,  healthy,  strapping  race  of  men,  only  of 
medium  height,  but  admirably  developed  in  chest  and 
limbs,  and  with  shrewd,  intelligent  faces.  Content,  not  stu- 
pidity, is  the  cause  of  their  stationary  condition.  They 
are  not  yet  a  people,  but  the  germ  of  one,  and,  as  such, 
present  a  grand  field  for  anthropological  studies. 

Towards  noon  the  road  began  to  descend,  by  easy 
grades,  from  the  fair,  rolling  uplands  into  a  lower  and 
wilder  region.  When  the  train  stopped,  women  and  chil- 
dren whose  swarthy  skin  and  black  eyes  betrayed  a  mix- 
ture of  Tartar  blood,  made  their  appearance,  with  wooden 
bowls  of  cherries  and  huckleberries  for  sale.  These  bowls 
were  neatly  carved  and  painted.  They  were  evidently  held 
in  high  value  ;  for  I  had  great  difficulty  in  purchasing  one. 
We  moved  slowly,  on  account  of  the  many  skeleton 
bridges ;  but  presently  a  long,  blue  ridge,  which  for  an 
hour  past  had  followed  us  in  the  southeast,  began  to  curve 
around  to  our  front.  I  now  knew  that  it  must  mark  the 
course  of  the  Oka  River,  and  that  we  were  approaching 
Nijni-Novgorod. 

We  soon  saw  the  river  itself;  then  houses  and  gardens 
scattered  along  the  slope  of  the  hill  ;  then  clusters  of 
sparkling  domes  on  the  summit ;  then  a  stately,  white- 
walled  citadel ;  and  the  end  of  the  blue  ridge  slanted  down 
in  an  even  line  to  the  Volga.  We  were  three  hundred  miles 
from  Moscow,  on  the  direct  road  to  Siberia. 

The  city  being  on  the  farther  side  of  the  Oka,  the  rail- 
road terminates  at  the  Fair,  which  is  a  separate  city,  oc- 
cupying the  triangular  level  between  the  two  rivers.  Our 
approach  to  it  was  first  announced  by  heaps  of  cotton- 
bales,  bound  in  striped  camel's-hair  cloth,  which  had  found 
their  way  hither  from  the  distant  valleys  of  Turkestan  and 


BETWEEN   EUBOPE   AND  ASIA.  86 

che  warm  plains  of  Bukharia.  Nearly  fifty  thousand  camels 
we  employed  in  the  transportation  of  this  staple  across 
the  deserts  of  the  Aral  to  Orenburg,  a  distance  of  a 
thousand  miles.  The  increase  of  price  had  doubled  the 
production  since  the  previous  year,  and  the  amount  which 
now  reaches  the  factories  of  Russia  through  this  channel 
cannot  be  less  than  seventy-five  thousand  bales.  The  ad- 
vance of  modern  civilization  has  so  intertwined  the  interests' 
of  all  zones  and  races,  that  a  civil  war  in  the  United  States 
affects  the  industry  of  Central  Asia ! 

Next  to  these  cotton-bales  which,  to  us,  silently  pro- 
claimed the  downfall  of  that  arrogant  monopoly  which  has 
caused  all  our  present  woe,  came  the  representatives  of 
those  who  produced  them.  Groups  of  picturesque  Asians 
—  Bashkirs,  Persians,  Bukharians,  and  Uzbeks  —  appeared 
on  either  side,  staring  impassively  at  the  wonderful  appa- 
rition. Though  there  was  sand  under  their  feet,  they 
seemed  out  of  place  in  the  sharp  north-wind  and  among 
the  hills  of  fir  and  pine. 

The  train  stopped  :  we  had  reached  the  station.  As  I 
stepped  upon  the  platform,  I  saw,  over  the  level  lines  of 
copper  roofs,  the  dragon-like  pinnacles  of  Chinese  build- 
ings, and  the  white  minaret  of  a  mosque.  Here  was  the 
certainty  of  a  picturesque  interest  to  balance  the  uncer- 
tainty of  our  situation.  We  had  been  unable  to  engage 
quarters  in  advance :  there  were  two  hundred  thousand 
strangers  before  us,  in  a  city  the  normal  population  of 
which  is  barely  forty  thousand ;  and  four  of  our  party  were 
ladies.  The  Envoy,  indeed,  might  claim  the  Governor's 
hospitality ;  but  our  visit  was  to  be  so  brief  that  we  had 
no  time  to  expend  on  ceremonies,  and  preferred  rambling 
at  sv'ill  through  the  teeming  bazaars  to  being  led  about 
under  the  charge  of  an  official  escort. 

A  friend  at  Moscow,  however,  had  considerately  tele- 
giaphed  in  our  behalf  to  a  French  resident  of  Nijni,  and 
the  latter  geritlen.an  met  us  at  the  station.  He  could  give 
I 


66  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

but  slight  hope  of  quarters  for  the  night,  but  generouslj 
offered  us  his  services.  Droshkies  were  engaged  to  convej 
us  to  the  old  city,  on  the  hill  beyond  the  Oka ;  and,  crowded 
two  by  two  into  the  shabby  little  vehicles,  we  set  forth.  The 
sand  was  knee-deep,  and  the  first  thing  that  happened  wa*. 
the  stoppage  of  our  procession  by  the  tumbling  down  of  the 
several  horses.  They  were  righted  with  the  help  of  some 
obliging  spectators ;  and  with  infinite  labor  we  worked 
through  this  strip  of  desert  into  a  region  of  mud,  with  a 
hard,  stony  bottom  somewhere  between  us  and  the  earth's 
centre.  The  street  we  entered,  though  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  Fair,  resembled  Broadway  on  a  sensation-day.  It  was 
choked  with  a  crowd,  compased  of  the  sweepings  of  Europe 
and  Asia.  Our  horses  thrust  their  heads  between  the  shoul- 
ders of  Christians,  Jews,  Moslems,  and  Pagans,  slowly  shov- 
ing their  way  towards  the  floating  bridge,  which  was  a  jam 
of  vehicles  from  end  to  end.  At  the  corners  of  the  streets, 
the  wiry  Don  Cossacks,  in  their  dashing  blue  uniforms  and 
caps  of  black  lamb's-wool,  regulated,  as  best  they  could, 
the  movements  of  the  multitude.  It  was  curious  to  notice 
how  they,  and  their  small,  well-knit  horses,  —  the  equine 
counterparts  of  themselves,  —  controlled  the  fierce,  fiery 
life  which  flashed  from  every  limb  and  feature,  and  did 
their  duty  with  wonderful  patience  and  gentleness.  They 
seemed  so  many  spirits  of  Disorder  tamed  to  the  service 
of  Order. 

It  was  nearly  half  an  hour  before  we  reached  the  other 
end  of  the  bridge,  and  struck  the  superb  inclined  highway 
which  leads  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  We  were  unwashed 
and  hungry ;  and  neither  the  tumult  of  the  lower  town,  nor 
the  view  of  the  Volga,  crowded  with  vessels  of  all  descrip- 
tions, had  power  to  detain  us.  Our  brave  little  horses  bent 
themselves  to  the  task ;  for  task  it  really  was,  —  the  road 
rising  between  three  and  four  hundred  feet  in  less  than  half 
a  niile.  Advantage  has  been  taken  of  a  sjight  natural  ra- 
vine, formed  by  a  short,  curving  spur  of  the  hill,  which 


BETWEEN   KUROPE   AND   ASIA.  67 

encloses  a  pocket  of  the  greenest  and  richest  foliage  —  a 
bit  of  unsuspected  beauty,  quite  invisible  from  the  otl>er 
side  of  the  river.  Then,  in  order  to  reach  the  level  of  the 
Kremlin,  the  road  is  led  through  an  artificial  gap,  a  hundred 
feet  in  depth,  to  the  open  square  in  the  centre  of  the  city. 

Here,  all  was  silent  and  deserted.  There  were  broad, 
well-paved  streets,  substantial  houses,  the  square  towers 
and  crenelated  walls  of  the  Old  Kremlin,  and  the  glittering 
cupolas  of  twenty-six  churches  before  us,  and  a  lack  of 
population  which  contrasted  amazingly  with  the  whirlpool 
of  life  below.  Monsieur  D.,  our  new,  but  most  faithful 
friend,  took  us  to  the  hotel,  every  corner  and  cranny  of 
which  was  occupied.  There  was  a  possibility  of  breakfast 
only,  and  water  was  obtained  with  great  exertion.  While 
we  were  lazily  enjoying  a  tolerable  meal,  Monsieur  D.  was 
bestirring  himself  in  all  quarters,  and  came  back  to  us  ra- 
diant with  luck.  He  had  found  four  rooms  in  a  neighboring 
street ;  and  truly,  if  one  were  to  believe  De  Custine  or 
Dumas,  such  rooms  are  impossible  in  Russia.  Charmingly 
clean,  elegantly  furnished,  with  sofas  of  green  leather  and 
beds  of  purest  linen,  they  would  have  satisfied  the  severe 
eye  of  an  English  housekeeper.  We  thanked  both  our 
good  friend  and  St.  Macarius  (who  presides  over  the  Fair) 
for  this  fortune,  took  possession,  and  then  hired  fresh  drosh- 
kies  to  descend  the  hill. 

On  emerging  from  the  ravine,  we  obtained  a  bird's-eye 
view  of  the  whole  scene.  Tlie  waters  of  both  rivers,  near 
at  hand,  were  scarcely  visible  throiigh  the  shipping  which 
covered  them.  Vessels  from  the  Neva,  the  Caspian,  and 
the  rivers  of  the  Ural,  were  here  congregated ;  and  they 
alone  represented  a  floating  population  of  between  thirty 
and  forty  thousand  souls.  The  Fair,  from  this  point,  re- 
sembled an  immense  flat  city,  —  the  streets  of  booths  being 
of  a  uniform  height.  —  out  of  which  rose  the  great  Greek 
church,  the  Tartar  mosque,  and  the  curious  Chinese  roofs. 
It  was  a  vast,  dark,  humming  plain,  vanishing  towards  th« 


68  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

west  and  northwest  in  clouds  of  sand.  By  this  time  tliert 
was  a  lull  in  the  business,  and  we  made  our  way  to  the 
central  bazaar  with  less  trouble  than  we  htd  anticipated. 
It  is  useless  to  attempt  an  enumeration  of  the  wares  ex- 
posed for  sale :  they  embraced  everything  grown,  trapped, 
dug,  or  manufactured  between  Ireland  and  Japan.  We 
sought,  of  course,  the  Asiatic  elements,  which  first  met  us 
in  the  shape  of  melons  from  Astrakhan,  and  grapes  from  the 
southern  slopes  of  the  Caucasus.  Then  came  wondrous 
stuffs  from  the  looms  of  Turkestan  and  Cashmere,  tur- 
quoises from  the  Upper  Oxus,  and  glittering  strings  of  Si- 
berian topaz  and  amethyst,  side  by  side  with  Nuremberg 
toys,  Lyons  silks,  and  Sheffield  cutlery.  About  one  third 
of  the  population  of  the  Fair  was  of  Asiatic  blood,  embra- 
cing representatives  from  almost  every  tribe  north  and  west 
of  the  Himalayas. 

This  temporary  city,  which  exists  during  only  two  months 
of  the  year,  contained  two  hundred  thousand  inhabitants 
at  the  time  of  our  visit.  During  the  remaining  ten  months 
it  is  utterly  depopulated,  the  bazaars  are  closed,  and  chains 
are  drawn  across  the  streets  to  prevent  the  passage  of  ve- 
hicles. A  single  statement  will  give  an  idea  of  its  extent : 
the  combined  length  of  the  streets  is  twenty-five  miles. 
The  Great  Bazaar  is  substantially  built  of  stone,  after  the 
manner  of  those  in  Constantinople,  except  that  it  incloses 
an  open  court,  where  a  Government  band  performs  every 
afternoon.  Here  the  finer  wares  are  displayed,  and  the 
shadowed  air  under  the  vaulted  roofs  is  a  very  kaleidoscope 
for  shifting  color  and  sparkle.  Tea,  cotton,  leather,  wool, 
and  the  other  heavier  and  coarser  conimodities,  have  their 
separate  streets  and  quarters.  The  several  nationalities 
are  similarly  divided,  to  some  extent ;  but  the  stranger,  of 
course,  prefers  to  see  them  jostling  together  in  the  streets, 
—  a  Babel  not  only  of  tongues,  but  of  feature,  character, 
and  costume. 

Our  ladies  were  eager  to  inspect  the  stock  of  jeweliy 


BETWEEN    EUROPE   AND   ASIA.  69 

especially  those  heaps  of  exquisite  color  with  which  the 
Mohammedans  very  logically  load  the  trees  of  Paradise; 
for  they  resemble  fruit  in  a  glorified  state  of  existence. 
One  can  imagine  virtuous  grapes  promoted  to  amethysts, 
blueberries  to  turquoises,  cherries  to  rubies,  and  green- 
gages to  aqua-marine.  These,  the  secondary  jewels  (with 
the  exception  of  the  ruby),  are  brought  in  great  quantities 
from  Siberia,  but  most  of  them  are  marred  by  slight  flaws 
or  other  imperfections,  so  that  their  cheapness  is  more  ap- 
parent than  real.  An  amethyst  an  inch  long,  throwing  the 
most  delicious  purple  light  from  its  hundreds  of  facets, 
quite  takes  you  captive,  and  you  put  your  hand  in  your 
pocket  for  the  fifteen  dollars  which  shall  make  you  its  pos- 
sessor ;  but  a  closer  inspection  is  sure  to  show  you  either 
a  broad  transverse  flaw,  or  a  spot  where  the  color  fades 
into  transparency.  The  white  topaz,  known  as  the  "  Sibe- 
rian diamond,"  is  generally  flawless,  and  the  purest  speci- 
mens are  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the  genuine 
brilliant.  A  necklace  of  these,  varying  from  a  half  to  a 
quarter  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  may  be  had  for  about 
twenty-five  dollars.  There  were  also  golden  and  smoky 
topaz  and  beryl,  in  great  profusion. 

A  princely  Bashkir  drew  us  to  his  booth,  first  by  his 
beauty  and  then  by  his  noble  manners.  He  was  the  very 
incarnation  of  Boker's  "  Prince  Adeb." 

"  The  girls  of  Damar  paosed  to  see  me  pass. 
I  walking  in  my  rags,  yet  beautiful. 
One  maiden  said,  '  He  has  a  prince's  air  ! ' 
I  am  a  prince  ;  the  air  was  all  my  own." 

This  Bashkir,  however,  was  not  in  rags,  he  was  elegantly 
attired.  His  silken  vest  was  bound  with  a  girdle  of  gold 
thread  studded  with  jewels,  and  over  it  he  wore  a  caftan, 
with  wide  sleeves,  of  the  finest  dark-blue  cloth.  The  round 
cap  of  black  lamb's-wool  became  his  handsome  head.  His 
complexion  was  pale  olive,  through  which  the  red  of  his 
cheeks  shone,  in  the  words  of  some  oriental  poem,  "like 


70  BY-WAYS    OF   EUROPE. 

a  rose  leaf  through  oil ;"  and  his  eyes,  in  their  dark  fire 
were  more  lustrous  tvian  smoky  topaz.  His  voice  was  mel- 
low and  musical,  and  his  every  movement  and  gesture  a 
new  exhibition  of  human  grace.  Among  thousands,  yea^ 
tens  of  thousands,  of  handsome  men,  he  stood  preeminent. 

As  our  acquaintance  ripened,  he  drew  a  pocket-book 
from  his  bosom,  and  showed  us  his  choicest  treasures :  tur 
quoises,  bits  of  wonderful  blue  heavenly  forget-me-nots ;  a 
jacinth,  burning  like  a  live  coal,  in  scarlet  light ;  and 
lastly,  a  perfect  ruby,  which  no  sum  less  than  twenty-five 
hundred  dollars  could  purchase.  From  him  we  learned 
the  curious  fluctuations  of  fashion  in  regard  to  jewels. 
Turquoises  were  just  then  in  the  ascendant;  and  one  of 
the  proper  tint,  the  size  of  a  parsnip-seed,  could  not  be  had 
for  a  hundred  dollars,  the  full  value  of  a  diamond  of  equal 
size.  Amethysts  of  a  deep  plum-color,  though  less  beauti- 
ful than  the  next  paler  shade,  command  very  high  prices  ; 
while  jacinth,  beryl,  and  aqua-marine  —  stones  of  exquisite 
hue  and  lustre  —  are  cheap.  But  then,  in  this  depart- 
ment, as  in  all  others.  Fashion  and  Beauty  are  not  conver- 
tible terms. 

In  the  next  booth  there  were  two  Persians,  who  unfolded 
before  our  eyes  some  of  their  marvelous  shawls,  where  you 
forget  the  barbaric  pattern  in  the  exquisite  fineness  of  the 
material  and  the  triumphant  harmony  of  the  colors.  Scar- 
let with  palm-leaf  border,  —  blue  clasped  by  golden  bronze, 
picked  out  with  red,  —  browns,  greens,  and  crimsons  strug- 
gling for  the  mastery  in  a  war  of  tints,  —  how  should  we 
choose  between  them  ?  Alas  !  we  were  not  able  to  choose  ; 
they  were  a  thousand  dollars  apiece  !  But  the  Persians 
still  went  on  unfolding,  taking  our  admiration  in  pay  for 
their  trouble,  and  seeming  even,  by  their  pleasant  smiles, 
to  consider  themselves  well  paid.  When  we  came  to  the 
booths  of  European  merchants,  we  were  swiftly  impressed 
with  the  fact  that  civilization,  in  following  the  sun  west- 
ward, loses  its  grace  in  proportion  as  it  advances.     The 


BETWEEN  EUROPE  AND  ASIA.  71 

gentle  dignity,  the  serene  patience,  the  «oft,  fraternal, 
affectionate  demeanor  of  our  Asiatic  brethren  vanished 
utterly  when  we  encountered  French  and  German  sales- 
men ;  and  yet  these  latter  would  have  seemed  gracious 
and  courteous,  had  there  been  a  few  Yankee  dealers 
beyond  them.  The  fourth  or  fifth  century,  which  still 
exists  in  Central  Asia,  was  undoubtedly,  in  this  particular, 
superior  to  the  nineteenth.  No  gentleman,  since  his  time, 
I  suspect,  has  equaled  Adam. 

Among  these  Asiatics  Mr.  Buckle  would  have  some  dif- 
ficulty in  maintaining  his  favorite  postulate,  that  tolerance 
is  the  result  of  progressive  intelligence.  It  is  also  the 
result  of  courtesy,  as  we  may  occasionally  see  in  well- 
bred  persons  of  limited  intellect.  Such,  undoubtedly, 
is  the  basis  of  that  tolerance  which  no  one  who  has  had 
much  personal  intercourse  with  the  Semitic  races  can  have 
failed  to  experience.  The  days  of  the  sword  and  fagot  are 
past;  but  it  was  reserved  for  Christians  to  employ  them 
in  the  name  of  religion  alone.  Local  or  political  jealous- 
ies are  at  the  bottom  of  those  troubles  which  still  occur 
from  time  to  time  in  Turkey ;  the  traveller  hears  no  insult- 
ing epithet,  and  the  green-turbaned  Imam  will  receive 
him  as  kindly  and  courteously  as  the  skeptical  Bey  edu- 
cated in  Paris.  I  have  never  been  so  aggressively  assailed, 
on  religious  grounds,  as  at  home,  —  never  so  coarsely  and 
insultingly  treated,  on  account  of  a  presumed  difference 
of  opinion,  as  by  those  who  claim  descent  from  the  Cava- 
liers. The  bitter  fierceness  of  some  of  our  leading 
reformers  is  overlooked  by  their  followers,  because  it 
springs  from  "  earnest  conviction "  ;  but  in  the  Orient 
intensest  faith  coexists  with  the  most  gracious  and  gentle 
manners. 

Be  not  impatient,  beloved  reader  ;  for  this  digression 
brings  me  naturally  to  the  next  thing  we  saw  at  Novgorod. 
As  we  issued  from  the  bazaar,  the  sunlit  minaret  greeted 
us  through  whirling  dust  and  ris'ng  vapor,  and  I  fancied  I 


72  BY-WA\S   OF  EUBOPE. 

could  hear  the  muezzin's  musical  cry.  It  was  about  time 
for  the  asser  prayer.  Droshkies  were  found,  and  we  rode 
slowly  through  the  long,  low  warehouses  of  "  caravan  tea  " 
and  Mongolian  wool  to  the  mound  near  the  Tartar  encamp- 
ment The  mosque  was  a  plain,  white,  octagonal  building, 
conspicuous  only  through  its  position.  The  turbaned  faith* 
ful  were  already  gathering ;  and  we  entered,  and  walked 
up  the  steps  among  them,  without  encountering  an  un- 
friendly glance.  At  the  door  stood  two  Cossack  soldiers, 
specially  placed  there  to  prevent  the  worshippers  from 
being  insulted  by  curious  Christians.  (Those  who  have 
witnessed  the  wanton  profanation  of  mosques  in  India  by 
the  English  officers  will  please  notice  this  fact)  If  we 
had  not  put  off  our  shoes  before  entering  the  hall  of  wor- 
ship, the  Cossacks  would  have  performed  that  operatiop 
for  us. 

I  am  happy  to  say  that  none  of  our  party  lacked  a 
proper  reverence  for  devotion,  though  it  was  offered  through 
the  channels  of  an  alien  creed.  The  ladies  lefl  their 
gaiters  beside  our  boots,  and  we  all  stood  in  our  stockings 
on  the  matting,  a  little  in  the  rear  of  the  kneeling  crowd. 
The  priest  occupied  a  low  dais  in  front,  but  he  simply  led 
the  prayer,  which  was  uttered  by  all.  The  windows  were 
open,  and  the  sun  poured  a  golden  flood  into  the  room. 
Yonder  gleamed  the  Kremlin  of  Novgorod,  yonder  rolled 
the  Volga,  all  around  were  the  dark  forests  of  the  North,  — • 
yet  their  faces  were  turned,  and  their  thoughts  went  south- 
ward, to  where  Mecca  sits  among  the  burning  hills,  in  the 
feathery  shade  of  her  palm-trees.  And  the  tongue  of 
Mecca  came  from  their  lips,  ^^  Allah!"  ^^  Allah  akhhar!"  as 
the  knee  bent  and  the  forehead  touched  the  floor. 

At  the  second  repetition  of  the  prayers  we  quietly  with- 
drew ;  and  good  Monsieur  D.,  forgetful  of  nothing,  sug 
gested  that  preparations  had  been  made  for  a  dinner  in  the 
great  cosmopolitan  restaurant.  So  we  drove  back  again 
through  the  Chinese  street,  with  its  red  horned  houses,  th« 


BETWEEN  EUROPE   AND  ASIA.  T3 

roofs  terminating  in  gilded  dragons'  tails,  and,  after  press 
ing  through  au  immense  multitude  enveloped  in  tobacco- 
smoke  and  the  steam  of  tea-urns,  found  ourselves  at  last  in 
a  low  room  with  a  shaky  floor  and  muslin  ceiling.  It  was 
an  exact  copy  of  the  dining-room  of  a  California  hotel. 
If  we  looked  blank  a  moment,  Monsieur  D.'s  smile  reas- 
sured us.  He  had  given  all  the  necessary  orders,  he  said, 
and  would  step  out  and  secure  a  box  in  the  theatre  before 
the  zakouski  was  served.  During  his  absence,  we  looked 
out  of  the  window  on  either  side  upon  surging,  whirling, 
humming  pictures  of  the  Great  Fair,  all  vanishing  in  per- 
spectives of  dust  and  mist. 

In  half  an  hour  our  friend  returned,  and  with  him 
entered  the  zakouski.  I  cannot  remember  half  the  appe- 
tizing ingredients  of  which  it  was  composed :  anchovies, 
sardines,  herrings,  capers,  cheese,  caviare,  pate  de  foie, 
pickles,  cherries,  oranges,  and  olives,  were  among  them. 
Instead  of  being  a  prelude  to  dinner,  it  was  almost  a 
dinner  in  itself.  Then,  after  a  Russian  soup,  which  always 
contains  as  much  solid  nutriment  as  meat-biscuit  or  Arc- 
tic pemmican,  came  the  glory  of  the  repast,  a  mighty 
sterlet,  which  was  swimming  in  Volga  water  when  we  took 
our  seats  at  the  table.  This  fish-,  the  exclusive  property  of 
Russia,  is,  in  times  of  scarcity,  worth  its  weight  in  silver. 
Its  unapproachable  flavor  is  supposed  to  be  as  evanescent 
as  the  hues  of  a  dying  dolphin.  Frequently,  at  grand  din- 
ner-parties, it  is  carried  around  the  table  in  a  little  tank, 
and  exhibited,  alive,  to  the  guests,  when  their  soup  is 
served,  that  its  freshness,  ten  minutes  afterwards,  may  be 
put  beyond  suspicion.  The  fish  has  the  appearance  of  a 
small,  lean  sturgeon ;  but  its  flesh  resembles  the  melting 
pulp  of  a  fruit  rather  than  the  fibre  of  its  watery  brethren. 
It  sinks  into  juice  upon  the  tongue,  like  a  perfectly  ripe 
peach.  In  this  quality  no  other  fish  in  the  world  can  ap- 
proach it ;  yet  I  do  not  think  the  flavor  quite  so  tine  as 
that  of  a  brook-trout.  Our  sterlet  was  nearly  two  feet 
long,  and  may  have  cost  twenty  or  thirty  dollars. 


74  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

With  it  appeared  an  astonishing  salad,  composed  of 
watermelons,  cantalou])es,  pickled  cherries,  cucumbers,  and 
certain  spicy  herbs.  Its  color  and  odor  were  enticing,  and 
we  had  all  applied  the  test  of  taste  most  satisfactorily 
before  we  detected  the  curious  mixture  of  ingredients- 
After  the  second  course,  — ■  a  ragout  of  beef,  accompanied 
with  a  rich,  elaborate  sauce,  —  three  heavy  tankards  of 
chased  silver,  holding  two  quarts  apiece,  were  placed  upon 
the  table.  The  first  of  these  contained  kvass,  the  second 
kislischt,  and  the  third  hydroniel.  Each  one  of  these  national 
drinks,  when  properly  brewed,  is  very  palatable  and  re- 
freshing. I  found  the  kislischi  nearly  identical  with  the 
ancient  Scandinavian  mead  :  no  doubt  it  dates  from  the 
Varangian  rule  in  Russia.  The  old  custom  of  passing  the 
tankards  around  the  table,  from  mouth  to  mouth,  is  still 
observed,  and  will  not  be  found  objectionable,  even  in  these 
days  of  excessive  delicacy,  when  ladies  and  gentlemen  are 
seated  alternately  at  the  banquet. 

The  Russian  element  of  the  dinner  here  terminated. 
Cutlets  and  roast  fowls  made  their  appearance,  with  bottles 
of  Rudesheimer  and  Lafitte,  followed  by  a  dessert  of  su- 
perb Persian  melons,  from  the  southern  shore  of  the 
Caspian  Sea. 

By  this  time  night  had  fallen,  and  Monsieur  D.  sug- 
gested an  immediate  adjournment  to  the  theatre.  What 
should  be  the  entertainment  ?  Dances  of  almehs,  songs  of 
gypsies,  or  Chinese  jugglers?  One  of  the  Ivans  brought  a 
progrannne.  It  was  not  difficult  to  decipher  the  word 
"  MAKEFTTb  "  and  to  recognize,  further,  in  the  name  of 
'*  Ira  Aldridge "  a  distinguished  nmlatto  tragedian,  to 
whom  Maryland  has  given  birth  (if  I  am  rightly  informed) 
and  Europe  fame.  We  had  often  heard  of  him,  yea,  seen 
his  portrait  in  Germany,  decorated  with  the  orders  con 
ferred  by  half  a  dozen  sovereigns  ;  and  his  presence  here, 
between  Europe  and  Asia,  was  not  the  least  characteristic 
feature  of  the  Fair.  A  mulatto  Macbeth,  in  a  Russian 
theatre,  with  a  Persian  and  Tartar  audience  ! 


BETWEEN    EUROPE   AND   ASIA.  76 

On  arriving,  we  were  ushered  into  two  whitewashed 
boxes,  which  had  been  reserved  for  our  party.  The  man- 
ager, having  been  informed  of  the  Envoy's  presence  in 
Nijni-Novgorod,  had  delayed  the  performance  half  an  hour, 
but  the  audience  bore  this  infliction  patiently.  The  building 
was  deep  and  narrow,  with  space  for  about  eight  hundred 
persons,  and  was  filled  from  top  to  bottom.  The  first  aci 
was  drawing  to  a  close  as  we  entered.  King  Duncan,  with 
two  or  three  shabby  attendants,  stood  in  the  court-yard  of 
the  castle,  —  the  latter  represented  by  a  handsome  French 
door  on  the  left,  with  a  bit  of  Tartar  wall  beyond,  —  and 
made  his  observations  on  the  "  pleasant  seat  "  of  Macbeth's 
mansion.  He  spoke  Russian,  of  course.  Lady  Macbeth 
now  appeared,  in  a  silk  dress  of  the  latest  fashion,  ex- 
panded by  the  amplest  of  crinolines.  She  was  passably 
handsome,  and  nothing  could  be  gentler  than  her  face  and 
voice.  She  received  the  royal  party  like  a  well-bred  lady, 
and  they  all  entered  the  French  door  together. 

There  was  no  change  of  scene.  With  slow  step  and 
folded  arms,  Ira  Macbeth  entered  and  commenced  the 
soliloquy,  "  If  it  were  done,"  etc.,  to  our  astonishment,  in 
English  !  He  was  a  dark,  strongly  built  mulatto,  of  about 
fifty,  in  a  fancy  tunic,  and  light  stockings  over  Forrestian 
calves.  His  voice  was  deep  and  powerful ;  and  it  was  very 
evident  that  Edmund  Kean,  once  his  master,  was  also  the 
model  which  he  carefully  followed  in  the  part.  There 
were  the  same,  deliberate,  over-distinct  enunciation,  the 
same  prolonged  pauses  and  gradually  performed  gestures, 
as  I  remember  in  imitations  of  Kean's  manner.  Except 
that  the  copy  was  a  little  too  apparent,  Mr.  Aldridge's 
acting  was  really  very  fine.  The  Russians  were  enthusias- 
tic in  their  applause,  though  very  few  of  them,  probably, 
understood  the  language  of  the  part.  The  Oriental  audi- 
tors were  perfectly  impassive,  and  it  was  impossible  to  guess 
how  they  regarded  the  performance. 

The  second  act  was  in  some  respects  the  most  amusing 


76  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

thing  I  ever  saw  upon  the  stage.  In  the  dagger-scena 
Ira  was,  to  my  mind,  quite  equal  to  Forrest ;  it  was  impos< 
sible  to  deny  him  unusual  dramatic  talent ;  but  his  com- 
plexion, continually  suggesting  Othello,  quite  confounded 
me.  The  amiable  Russian  Lady  Macbeth  was  much  better 
adapted  to  the  part  of  Desdemona  :  all  softness  and  gen- 
tleness, she  smiled  as  she  lifted  her  languishing  eyes,  and 
murmured  in  the  tenderest  accents,  "  Infirm  of  purpose ! 
give  me  the  dagger !  "  At  least,  I  took  for  granted  that 
these  were  her  words,  for  Macbeth  had  just  said,  "Look 
on't  again  I  dare  not."  Afterwards,  six  Russian  soldiers, 
in  tan-colored  shirts,  loose  trousers,  and  high  boots,  filed 
in,  followed  by  Macduff  and  Malcolm,  in  the  costume  of 
Wallenstein's  troopers.  The  dialogue  —  one  voice  Eng- 
lish, and  all  the  others  Russian  —  proceeded  smoothly 
enough,  but  the  effect  was  like  nothing  which  our  stage 
can  produce.  Nevertheless,  the  audience  was  delighted, 
and  when  the  curtain  fell  there  were  vociferous  cries  of 
^'■Aira  !  Aira  !  Aldreetch  !  Aldreetch  !  "  until  the  swarthy 
hero  made  his  appearance  before  the  foot-lights. 

Monsieur  D.  conducted  our  friend  P.  into  the  green- 
room, where  he  was  received  by  Macbeth  in  costume.  He 
found  the  latter  to  be  a  dignified,  imposing  personage,  who 
carried  his  tragic  chest-tones  into  ordinary  conversation. 
On  being  informed  by  P.  that  the  American  minister  was 
present,  he  asked,  — 

"  Of  what  persuasion  ?  " 

P.  hastened  to  set  him  right,  and  Ira  then  remarked,  in 
his  gravest  tone,  —  "I  shall  have  the  honor  of  waiting 
upon  him  to-morrow  morning  ; "  which,  however,  he  failed 
to  do. 

This  son  of  the  South,  no  doubt,  came  legitimately  (or 
at  least,  naturally)  by  his  dignity.  His  career,  for  a  man 
of  his  blood  and  antecedents,  has  been  wonderfully  success- 
ful, and  is  justly  due,  I  am  convinced,  since  I  have  seen 
him,  to  his  histrionic  talerts.     Both  black  and  yellow  skinf 


BETWEEN  EUROPE   AND   ASIA.  'H 

are  sufficiently  rare  in  Europe  to  excite  a  particular  in« 
terest  in  those  who  wear  them  ;  and  I  had  surmised,  up  to 
this  time,  that  much  of  his  popularity  might  be  owing  to 
his  color.  But  he  certainly  deserves  an  honorable  place 
among  tragedians  of  the  second  rank. 

We  left  the  theatre  at  the  close  of  the  third  act,  and 
crossed  the  river  to  our  quarters  on  the  hill.  A  chill  mist 
hung  over  the  Fair,  but  the  lamps  still  burned,  the  streets 
were  thronged,  and  the  Don  Cossacks  kept  patient  guard 
at  every  corner.  The  night  went  by  like  one  unconscious 
minute,  in  beds  unmolested  by  bug  or  flea ;  and  when  I 
arose,  thoroughly  refreshed,  I  involuntarily  called  to  mind 
a  frightful  chapter  in  De  Custine's  "  Russia,"  describing  the 
prevalence  of  an  insect  which  he  calls  the  persica,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Volga.  He  was  obliged  to  sleep  on  a  table, 
tbe  legs  whereof  were  placed  in  basins  of  water,  to  escape 
their  attacks.  I  made  many  inquiries  about  these  terrible 
perticas,  and  finally  discovered  that  they  were  neither  more 
aor  less  than  —  cockroaches  !  —  called  ProssaM  (Prus- 
sians) by  the  Russians,  as  they  are  sometimes  called  Schwa- 
ben  (Suabians)  by  the  Germans.  Possibly  they  may  be 
found  in  the  huts  of  the  serfs,  but  they  are  rare  in  decent 
houses. 

"We  devoted  the  first  sunny  hours  of  the  morning  to  a  visit 
to  the  citadel  and  a  walk  around  the  crest  of  the  hill.  On 
the  highest  point,  just  over  the  junction  of  the  two  rivers, 
there  is  a  commemorative  column  to  Minim,  the  patriotic 
butcher  of  Novgorod,  but  for  whose  eloquence,  in  the  year 
1610,  the  Russian  might  possibly  now  be  the  Polish  Em- 
pire. Vladislas,  son  of  Sigismund  of  Poland,  had  been 
called  to  the  throne  by  the  boyards,  and  already  reigned  in 
Moscow,  when  Minim  appealed  to  the  national  spirit,  per- 
suaded General  Pojarski  to  head  an  anti-Polish  movement, 
which  was  successful,  and  thus  cleared  the  way  for  the 
election  of  Michael  Romanoff,  the  first  sovereign  of  the 
present  dynasty.  Minim  is  therefore  one  of  the  historic 
names  of  Russia. 


78  BY-WAYS   OF  EmOPt. 

When  I  stood  beside  his  monument,  and  the  finest  land 
scape  of  Kuropean  Russia  was  suddenly  unrolled  befor« 
my  eyes,  I  could  believe  the  tradition  of  his  eloquence, 
for  here  was  its  inspiration.  Thirty  or  forty  miles  away 
stretched  the  rolling  swells  of  forest  and  grain-land,  fading 
into  dinmiest  blue  to  the  westward  and  northward,  dotted 
with  villages  and  sparkling  domes,  and  divided  by  shining 
reaches  of  the  Volga.  It  was  truly  a  superb  and  imposing 
view,  changing  with  each  spur  of  the  hill  as  we  made  the 
circuit  of  the  citadel.  Eastward,  the  country  rose  into 
dark,  wooded  hills,  between  which  the  river  forced  its  way 
in  a  narrower  and  swifter  channel,  until  it  disappeared 
behind  a  purple  headland,  hastening  southward  to  find  a 
warmer  home  in  the  unfrozen  Caspian.  By  embarking  on 
the  steamers  anchored  below  us,  we  might  have  reached 
Perm,  among  the  Ural  Mountains,  or  Astrakhan,  in  less 
than  a  week  ;  while  a  trip  of  ten  days  would  have  taken  us 
past  the  Caucasus,  even  to  the  base  of  Ararat  or  Demavend. 
Such  are  the  splendid  possibilities  of  travel  in  these  days. 

The  Envoy,  who  visited  Europe  for  the  first  time,  de- 
clared that  this  panorama  from  the  hill  of  Novgorod  was 
one  of  the  finest  things  he  had  seeii.  There  could,  truly, 
be  no  better  preparation  to  enjoy  it  than  fifteen  hundred 
miles  of  nearly  unbroken  level,  after  leaving  the  Russian 
frontier ;  but  I  think  it  would  be  a  noted  landscape  any- 
where. Why  it  is  not  more  widely  celebrated  I  cannot 
guess.  The  only  person  in  Russia  whom  I  heard  speak  of 
it  with  genuine  enthusiasm  was  Alexander  II. 

Two  hours  upon  the  breezy  parapet,  beside  the  old 
Tartar  walls,  were  all  too  little ;  but  the  droshkies  waited 
in  the  river-street  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  us ;  our  return 
to  Moscow  was  ordered  for  the  afternoon ;  there  were  ame- 
thysts and  Persian  silks  yet  to  be  bought,  and  so  we  sighed 
farewell  to  an  enjoyment  rare  in  Russia,  and  descended  the 
steep  foot-path. 

P.  and  I  left  the  rest  of  the  party  at  the  bootli  of  the 


BETWEEN  EUEOPE   AM)  ASIA.  79 

huidsome  Bashkir,  and  set  out  upon  a  special  mission  to 
the  Tartar  camp.  I  had  ascertained  that  the  national 
beverage  of  Centra.  Asia  might  be  found  there,  —  the  gen- 
uine koumiss  or  fermented  milk  of  the  mares  of  the  Uralian 
steppes.  Having  drunk  palm-wine  in  Irdia,  samshoo  in 
China,  saki  in  Japan,  pulque  in  Mexico,  houza  in  Egypt, 
mead  in  Scandinavia,  ale  in  England,  bock-bier  in  Germany, 
mastic  in  Greece,  calabogus  in  Newfoundland,  and  —  soda- 
water  in  the  United  States,  I  desired  to  complete  the  bibu- 
lous cosmos,  in  which  koumiss  was  still  lacking.  My  friend 
did  not  share  my  curiosity,  but  was  ready  for  an  adventure, 
which  our  search  for  mare's  milk  seemed  to  promise. 

Beyond  the  mosques  we  found  the  Uzbeks  and  Kirghiz, 
■ —  some  in  tents,  some  in  rough  shanties  of  boards.  But 
they  were  without  koumiss :  they  had  had  it,  and  showed 
us  some  empty  kegs,  in  evidence  of  the  fact.  I  fancied  a 
gleam  of  diversion  stole  over  their  grave,  swarthy  faces,  as 
they  listened  to  our  eager  inquiries  in  broken  Russian. 
Finally  we  came  into  an  extemporized  village,  where  some 
women,  unveiled  and  ugly,  advised  us  to  apply  to  the 
traders  in  the  khan,  or  caravanserai.  This  was  a  great 
barn-like  building,  two  stories  high,  with  broken  staircases 
and  creaking  floors.  A  corridor  ran  the  whole  length  of 
the  second  floor,  with  some  twenty  or  thirty  doors  opening 
into  it  from  the  separate  rooms  of  the  traders.  We  ac- 
costed the  first  Tartar  whom  we  met,  and  he  promised, 
with  great  readiness,  to  procure  us  what  we  wanted.  He 
ushered  us  into  his  room,  cleared  away  a  pile  of  bags, 
saddles,  camel-trappings,  and  other  tokens  of  a  nomadic 
life,  and  revealed  a  low  divan  covered  with  a  ragged  carpet. 
On  a  sack  of  barley  sat  his  father,  a  blind  graybeard, 
nearly  eighty  years  old.  On  our  way  through  the  camp  I 
had  noticed  that  the  Tartars  saluted  each  other  with  the 
Arabic,  "  Salaam  aleikoom  !  "  and  I  therefore  greeted  the 
old  man  with  the  familiar  words.  He  lifted  his  head  :  his 
face  brightened,  and  he  immediately  answered,  "Aleikoom 
salaam,  my  son  !  " 


80  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

'^  Do  you  speak  A.rabic  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  little  ;  I  have  forgotten  it,"  said  he.  "  But  thine  ii 
a  new  voice.     Of  what  tribe  art  thou  ?  " 

"  A  tribe  far  away,  beyond  Bagdad  and  Syria,"  I  an* 
swered. 

"  It  is  the  tribe  of  Damascus.  I  know  it  now,  my  son. 
I  have  heard  the  voice,  many,  many  years  ago." 

The  withered  old  face  looked  so  bright,  as  some  pleas< 
ant  memory  shone  through  it,  that  I  did  not  undeceive  the 
man.  His  son  came  in  with  a  glass,  pulled  a  keg  from 
under  a  pile  of  coarse  caftans,  and  drew  out  the  wooden 
peg.  A  gray  liquid,  with  an  odor  at  once  sour  and  pun- 
gent, spirted  into  the  glass,  which  he  presently  handed  to 
me,  filled  to  the  brim.  In  such  cases  no  hesitation  is  per- 
mitted. I  thought  of  home  and  family,  set  the  glass  to  my 
lips,  and  emptied  it  before  the  flavor  made  itself  clearly 
manifest  to  my  palate. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  like  ?  "  asked  ray  friend,  who  curiously 
awaited  the  result  of  the  experiment 

*'  Peculiar,"  I  answered,  with  preternatural  calmness,  — 
"  peculiar,  but  not  unpleasant." 

The  glass  was  filled  a  second  time ;  and  P.,  not  to  be 
behindhand,  emptied  it  at  a  draught  Then  he  turned  to 
me  with  tears  (not  of  delight)  in  his  eyes,  swallowed  very 
hard  two  or  three  times,  suppressed  a  convulsive  shudder, 
and  finally  remarked,  with  the  air  of  a  martyr,  "Very 
curious,  indeed ! " 

"  Will  your  Excellencies  have  some  more  ?  "  said  the 
friendly  Tartar. 

"  Not  before  breakfast,  if  you  please,"  I  answered ; 
"  your  koumiss  is  excellent,  however,  and  we  will  take  a 
bottle  with  us,"  —  which  we  did,  in  order  to  satisfy  the 
possible  curiosity  of  the  ladies.  I  may  here  declare  that 
the  bottle  was  never  emptied. 

The  taste  was  that  of  aged  buttermilk  mixed  with  am- 
monia.    We  could  detect  no  flavor  of  alcohol,  yet  were 


BETWEEW   fiUROPE  AND  ASIA.  81 

conscious  of  a  light  exhilaration  from  the  small  quantity 
we  drank.  The  beverage  is  said,  indeed,  to  be  very  in- 
toxicating. Some  German  physician  has  established  a 
"  koumiss-cure  "  at  Piatigorsk,  at  the  northern  base  of  the 
Caucasus,  and  invites  invalids  of  certain  kinds  to  come 
and  be  healed  by  its  agency.  I  do  not  expect  to  be  one  of 
the  number. 

There  still  remained  a  peculiar  feature  of  the  Fair, 
which  I  had  not  yet  seen.  This  is  the  subterranean  net- 
work of  sewerage,  which  reproduces,  in  massive  masonry, 
the  streets  on  the  surface.  Without  it,  the  annual  city  of 
two  months  would  become  uninhabitable.  The  peninsula 
between  the  two  rivers  being  low  and  marshy,  —  frequently 
overflowed  during  the  spring  freshets,  —  pestilence  would 
soon  be  bred  from  tiie  immense  concourse  of  people :  hence 
a  system  of  cloacce,  almost  rivaling  those  of  ancient  Rome. 
At  each  street-corner  there  are  wells  containing  spiral 
staircases,  by  which  one  can  descend  to  the  spacious  sub- 
terranean passages,  and  there  walk  for  miles  under  arches 
of  hewn  stone,  lighted  and  aired  by  shafts  at  regular  inter- 
vals. In  St.  Petersburg  you  are  told  that  more  than  half 
the  cost  of  the  city  is  under  the  surface  of  the  earth ;  at 
Nijni-Novgorod  the  statement  is  certainly  true.  Peter  the 
vireat  at  one  time  designed  establishing  his  capital  here. 
Could  he  have  foreseen  the  existence  of  railroads,  he  would 
certainly  have  done  so.  Nijni-Novgorod  is  now  nearer  to 
Berlin  than  the  Russian  frontier  was  fifty  years  ago.  St. 
Petersburg  is  an  accidental  city ;  Nature  and  the  destiny 
of  the  empire  are  both  opposed  to  its  existence  ;  and  a  time 
will  come  when  its  long  lines  of  palaces  shall  be  deserted 
for  some  new  capital,  in  a  locality  at  once  more  southern 
and  more  central. 

Another  walk  through  the  streets  of  the  Fair  enabled 

me  to  analyze  the  first  confused  impression,  and  separate 

the  motley  throng  of  life  into  its  several  elements.     I  shaii 

not  attempt,  however,  to  catch  and  paint  its  ever-changing, 

6 


($2  Bl-WAYS   OF  EU»OPte. 

fluctuating  character.  Our  limited  visit  allowed  us  to  see 
only  the  more  central  and  crowded  streets.  Outside  of 
these,  for  miles,  extend  suburbs  of  iron,  of  furs,  wool,  and 
other  coarser  products,  brought  together  from  the  Ural, 
Trom  the  forests  towards  the  Polar  Ocean,  and  from  the 
vast  extent  of  Siberia.  Here,  from  morning  till  night,  the 
beloved  kvass  flows  in  rivers,  the  strong  stream  of  shchee 
(cabbage-soup)  sends  up  its  perpetual  incense,  and  the 
samovar  of  cheap  tea  is  never  empty.  Here,  although  im- 
portant interests  are  represented,  the  intercourse  between 
buyers  and  sellers  is  less  grave  and  methodical  than  in  the 
bazaar.  There  are  jokes,  laughter,  songs,  and  a  constant 
play  of  that  repartee  in  which  even  the  serfs  are  masters. 
Here,  too,  jugglers  and  mountebanks  of  all  sorts  ply  their 
trade  ;  gypsies  sing,  dance,  and  tell  fortunes ;  and  other 
vocations,  less  respectable  than  these,  flourish  vigorously. 
For,  whether  the  visitor  be  an  Ostiak  from  the  Polar  Cir- 
cle, an  Uzbek  from  the  Upper  Oxus,  a  Grim-Tartar  or 
Nogai,  a  Georgian  from  Tiflis,  a  Mongolian  from  the  Land 
of  Grass,  a  Persian  from  Ispahan,  a  Jew  from  Hamburg,  a 
Frenchman  from  Lyons,  a  Tyrolese,  Swiss,  Bohemian,  or 
an  Anglo-Saxon  from  either  side  of  the  Atlantic,  he  meets 
his  fellow-visitors  to  the  Great  Fair  on  the  common  ground, 
not  of  human  brotherhood,  but  of  human  appetite ;  and  all 
the  manifold  nationalities  succumb  to  the  same  allurements. 
If  the  various  forms  of  indulgence  could  be  so  used  as  to 
propagate  ideas,  the  world  would  speedily  be  regenerated ; 
but  as  things  go,  "  cakes  and  ale  "  have  more  force  than 
the  loftiest  ideas,  the  noblest  theories  of  improvement ;  and 
the  impartial  observer  will  make  this  discovery  as  readilj 
at  Nijni- Novgorod  as  anywhere  else. 

Before  taking  leave  of  the  Fair,  let  me  give  a  word  to 
the  important  subject  of  tea.  It  is  a  much-disputed  ques- 
tion with  the  connoisseurs  of  that  beverage  which  neither 
cheers  nor  inebriates  (though,  I  confess,  it  is  more  agree- 
able than  koumiss),  whether  the   Russian  "  caravan   tea* 


BETWEEN   EUROPE  AND  ASIA.  M 

m  really  superior  to  that  which  is  imported  by  sea.  Ailei 
much  patient  observation,  combined  with  serious  reflection 
I  incline  to  the  opinion  that  the  flavor  of  tea  depends,  not 
upon  the  method  of  transportation,  but  upon  tbe  price  paid 
for  the  article.  I  have  tasted  bad  caravan  tea  in  Russia, 
and  delicious  tea  in  New  York.  In  St.  Petersburg  you 
cannot  procure  a  good  article  for  less  than  three  roubles 
($2.25,  gold)  per  pound ;  while  the  finer  kinds  bring 
twelve  and  even  sixteen  roubles.  Whoever  is  willing  U^ 
import  at  that  price  can  no  doubt  procure  tea  of  equal  ex.- 
cellence.  The  fact  is,  that  this  land-transportation  is  slow, 
laborious,  and  expensive  ;  hence  the  finer  kinds  of  tea  are 
always  selected,  a  pound  thereof  costing  no  more  ioi  car- 
riage than  a  pound  of  inferior  quality ;  whence  tfiie  supe- 
rior flavor  of  caravan  tea.  There  is,  however,  one  variety 
to  be  obtained  in  Russia  which  I  have  found  nowhere  else, 
not  even  in  the  Chinese  sea-ports.  It  is  called  "  imperial 
tea,"  and  comes  in  elegant  boxes  of  yellow  silk  emblazoned 
with  the  dragon  of  the  Hang  dynasty,  at  the  rate  of  from 
six  to  twenty  dollars  a  pound.  It  is  yellow,  and  the  decoc- 
tion from  it  is  almost  colorless.  A  small  pinch  of  it, 
added  to  ordinary  black  tea,  gives  an  indescribably  delicious 
flavor  —  the  very  aroma  of  the  tea-blossom  ;  but  one  cup 
of  it,  unmixed,  is  said  to  deprive  the  drinker  of  sleep  for 
three  nights. 

Monsieur  D.  brought  our  last  delightful  stroll  through 
the  glittering  streets  to  an  untimely  end.  The  train  for 
Moscow  was  to  leave  at  three  o'clock  ;  and  he  had  ordered 
an  early  dinner  at  the  restaurant.  By  the  time  this  was 
concluded,  it  was  necessary  to  drive  at  once  to  the  station, 
in  order  to  secure  places.  We  were  almost  too  late  ;  the 
train,  long  as  it  was,  was  crammed  to  overflowing ;  and 
although  both  station-master  and  conductor  assisted  us,  the 
eager  passengers  disregarded  their  authority.  With  great 
difficulty,  one  compartment  was  cleared  for  the  ladies  ;  in 
the  adjoining  one  four   merchants,  in   long  caftans,  with 


84  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

sacks  of  watermelons  as  provision  for  the  journey,  took 
their  places,  and  would  not  be  ejected.  A  scene  of  con* 
fusion  ensued,  in  which  station-master,  conductor,  Mon- 
sieur  D.,  my  friend  P.,  and  the  Russian  merchants  were 
curiously  mixed ;  but  when  we  saw  the  sacks  of  water 
melons  rolling  out  of  the  door,  we  knew  the  day  was  ours* 
In  two  minutes  more  we  were  in  full  possession ;  the  doors 
were  locked,  and  the  struggling  throngs  beat  against  them 
in  vain. 

With  a  grateful  farewell  to  our  kind  guide,  whose  rather 
severe  duties  for  our  sake  were  now  over,  we  moved  away 
from  the  station,  past  heaps  of  cotton-bales,  past  hills  of 
drifting  sand,  and  impassive  groups  of  Persians,  Tartars, 
and  Bukharians,  and  slowly  mounted  the  long  grade  to 
the  level  of  the  upland,  leaving  the  Fair  to  hum  and  whirl 
in  the  hollow  between  the  rivers,  and  the  white  walls  and 
golden  domes  of  Novgorod  to  grow  dim  on  the  crest  of  the 
receding  hill. 

The  next  moming   at  sunrise,  we  were  again  in  Mot 


WINTER-LIFE  IN  ST.  PETERSBURG. 


As  September  drew  to  an  end,  with  only  here  and  ther€ 
a  suggestion  of  autumn  in  chrome-colored  leaves  on  the 
ends  of  birch-branches,  we  were  told  that  any  day  n/ight 
suddenly  bring  forth  winter.  I  remembered  that  five  years 
before,  in  precisely  the  same  season,  I  had  travelled  from 
Upsala  to  Stockholm  in  a  violent  snow-storm,  and  there- 
fore accepted  the  announcement  as  a  part  of  the  regular 
programme  of  the  year.  But  the  days  came  and  went; 
fashionable  equipages  forsook  their  summer  ground  of  the 
Islands,  and  crowded  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt ;  the  nights 
were  cold  and  raw ;  the  sun's  lessening  declination  was 
visible  from  day  to  day,  and  still  Winter  delayed  to  make 
his  appearance. 

The  Island  drive  was  our  favorite  resort  of  an  afternoon  ; 
and  we  continued  to  haunt  it  long  after  every  summer 
guest  had  disappeared,  and  when  the  datchas  and  palaces 
showed  plank  and  matting  in  place  of  balcony  and  window. 
In  the  very  heart  of  St.  Petersburg  the  one  full  stream  of 
the  Neva  splits  into  three  main  arms,  which  afterwards 
subdivide,  each  seeking  the  Gulf  of  Finland  at  its  own 
swift,  wild  will.  The  nearest  of  these  islands,  Vassili  Os- 
trow,  is  a  part  of  the  solid  city :  on  Kammenoi  and  Apte- 
karskoi  you  reach  the  commencement  of  gardens  and 
groves ;  and  beyond  these  the  rapid  waters  mirror  only 
palace,  park,  and  summer  theatre.  The  widening  streams 
continually  disclose  the  horizon-line  of  the  Gulf;  and  at 
the  farthest  point  of  the  drive,  where  the  road  turns 
sharply  back  again  from  the  freedom  of  the  shore  into 
mixed  woods  of  birch  and  pine,  the  shipping  at  Cronstadt 
' — and   sometimes    the    phantoms   of  fortresses — detacb 


88  BY-WAYS   Oif  EUROPE. 

themselves  from  the  watery  haze,  and  the  hill  of  Pargola, 
in  Finland,  rises  to  break  the  dreary  level  of  the  Ingrian 
marshes. 

During  the  sunny  evenings  and  the  never-ending  twi 
lights  of  midsummer,  all  St.  Petersburg  pours  itself  upon 
these  islands.  A  league-long  wall  of  dust  rises  from  the 
carriages  and  droshkies  in  the  main  highway ;  and  the 
branching  Neva-arms  are  crowded  with  skiffs  and  diminu 
tive  steamers  bound  for  pleasure-gardens  where  gypsies 
sing  and'Tyrolese  yodel  and  jugglers  toss  their  knives  and 
balls,  and  private  rooms  may  be  had  for  gambling  and 
other  cryptic  diversions.  Although  with  shortened  days 
and  cool  evenings  the  tide  suddenly  took  a  reflux  and  the 
Nevskoi  became  a  suggestion  of  Broadway  (which,  of  all 
individual  streets,  it  most  nearly  resembles),  we  found  an 
indescribable  charm  in  the  solitude  of  the  fading  groves 
and  the  waves  whose  lamenting  murmur  foretold  their 
speedy  imprisonment.  We  had  the  whole  superb  drive  to 
ourselves.  It  is  true  that  Ivan,  upon  the  box,  lifted  his 
brows  in  amazement,  and  sighed  that  his  jaunty  cap  of 
green  velvet  should  be  wasted  upon  the  desert  air,  when- 
ever I  said,  " Na  Osirowa"  but  he  was  too  genuine  a  Rus- 
sian to  utter  a  word  of  remonstrance. 

Thus,  day  by  day,  unfashionable,  but  highly  satisfied,  we 
repeated  the  lonely  drive,  until  the  last  day  came,  as  it  al- 
ways will.  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  forget  it.  It  was  the 
first  day  of  November.  For  a  fortnight  the  temperature 
had  been  a  little  below  the  freezing-point,  and  the  leaves 
of  the  alder-thickets,  frozen  suddenly  and  preserved  as  in 
a  great  out-door  refrigerator,  maintained  their  green.  A 
pale  blue  mist  rose  from  the  Gulf  and  hung  over  the 
islands,  the  low  sun  showing  an  orange  disk,  which  touched 
the  shores  with  the  loveliest  color,  but  gave  no  warmth  to 
ihe  windless  air.  The  parks  and  gardens  were  wholly  de- 
serted, and  came  and  went,  on  either  side,  phantom-like  in 
their  soft,  gray,  faded  tints.     Under  every  bridge  flashed 


WINTER-LIFE   IN    ST.    PETERSBURG.  89 

and  foamed  the  clear,  beryl-green  waters.  And  nobody  in 
St  Petersburg,  except  ourselves,  saw  this  last  and  sunniest 
flicker  of  the  dying  season  ! 

The  very  next  day  was  cold  and  dark,  and  so  the  Rreathui 
remained,  with  brief  interruptions,  for  months.  On  the 
evening  of  the  6th,  as  we  drove  over  the  Nikolai  Bridge 
to  dine  with  a  friend  on  Vassili  Ostrow,  we  noticed  frag- 
ments of  ice  floating  down  the  Neva.  Looking  up  the 
stream,  we  were  struck  by  the  fact  that  the  remaining 
bridges  had  been  detached  from  the  St  Petersburg  side, 
floated  over,  and  anchored  along  the  opposite  shore.  This 
seemed  a  needless  precaution,  for  the  pieces  of  drift-ice 
were  hardly  large  enough  to  have  crushed  a  skiff".  How 
surprised  were  we,  then,  on  returning  home,  four  hours 
later,  to  find  the  noble  river  gone,  not  a  green  wave  to  be 
seen,  and,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  a  solid  floor  of  ice, 
over  which  people  were  already  crossing  to  and  fro ! 

Winter,  having  thus  suddenly  taken  possession  of  the 
world,  lost  no  time  in  setting  up  the  signs  of  his  rule.  The 
leaves,  whether  green  or  brown,  disappeared  at  one  swoop ; 
snow-gusts  obscured  the  little  remaining  sunshine ;  the  in- 
habitants came  forth  in  furs  and  bulky  wrappings ;  oysters 
and  French  pears  became  unreasonably  dear ;  and  sledges 
of  frozen  fish  and  game  crowded  down  from  the  northern 
forests.  In  a  few  days  the  physiognomy  of  the  capital  was 
completely  changed.  All  its  life  and  stir  withdrew  from 
the  extremities  and  gathered  into  a  few  central  thorough- 
fares, as  if  huddling  together  for  mutual  warmth  and  en- 
couragement in  the  cold  air  and  under  the  gloomy  sky. 

For  darkness,  rather  than  cold,  is  the  characteristic  of 
the  St.  Petersburg  winter.  The  temperature,  which  at 
Montreal  or  St.  Paul  would  not  be  thought  remarkably 
low,  seems  to  be  more  severely  felt  here,  owing  to  the  ab- 
sence of  pure  daylight.  Although  both  Lake  Ladoga  and 
the  Gulf  of  Finland  are  frozen,  the  air  always  retains  a 
damp,  raw,  penetrating  quality,  and  the  snow  is  more  fi«- 


90  BY'  KAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

quently  sticky  and  clammy  than  dry  and  crystalline.  Few, 
indeed,  are  the  days  which  are  not  cheerless  and  depress- 
ing. In  December,  when  the  sky  is  overcast  for  weeks  to- 
gether, the  sun,  rising  after  nine  o'clock,  and  sliding  along 
just  above  the  horizon,  enables  you  to  dispense  with  lamp- 
light somewhere  between  ten  and  eleven ;  but  by  two  in 
the  afternoon  you  must  call  for  lights  again.  Even  when 
a  clear  day  comes,  the  yellow,  level  sunshine  is  a  combina- 
tion of  sunrise  and  sunset,  and  neither  tempers  the  air  nor 
mitigates  the  general  expression  of  gloom,  almost  of  de- 
spair, upon  the  face  of  Nature. 

The  preparations  for  the  season,  of  course,  have  been 
made  long  before.  In  most  houses  the  double  windows 
are  allowed  to  remain  through  the  summer,  but  they  must 
be  carefully  examined,  the  layer  of  cotton  between  them, 
at  the  bottom,  replenished,  a  small  vessel  of  salt  added  to 
absorb  the  moisture  and  prevent  it  from  freezing  on  the 
panes,  and  strips  of  paper  pasted  over  every  possible  crack. 
The  outer  doors  are  covered  with  wadded  leather,  over- 
lapping the  frames  on  all  sides.  The  habitations  being  thus 
almost  hermetically  sealed,  they  are  easily  warmed  by  the 
huge  porcelain  stoves,  which  retain  warmth  so  tenaciously 
that  one  fire  per  day  is  sufficient  for  the  most  sensitive 
constitutions.  In  my  owji  room,  I  found  that  one  armful  of 
birch-wood,  reduced  to  coal,  every  alternate  morning,  created 
a  steady  temperature  of  64°.  Although  the  rooms  are 
always  spacious,  and  arranged  in  suites  of  from  three  to  a 
dozen,  according  to  the  extent  and  splendor  of  the  residencCj 
the  atmosphere  soon  becomes  close  and  characterized  by 
an  unpleasant  odor,  suggesting  its  diminished  vitality ;  for 
which  reason  pastilles  are  burned,  or  eau  de  Cologne  re- 
duced to  vapor  in  a  heated  censer,  whenever  visits  are  an- 
ticipated. It  was  a  question  with  me,  whether  or  not  the 
advantage  of  a  thoroughly  equable  temperature  was  counter- 
balanced by  the  lack  of  circulation.  The  physical  depress- 
ion we  all  felt  seemed  to  result  chiefly  from  the  absence 
of  daylight 


WTNTER-LTFli   IN   ST.    PETERSBURG.  91 

Obic  winter  picture  remains  clearly  outlined  upon  my 
memory.  In  the  beginning  of  December  we  happened 
once  to  drive  across  the  Admiralty  Square  in  the  early 
evening  twilight,  —  three  o'clock  in  the  aftern  Don.  The 
temperature  was  about  10°  below  zero,  the  sky  a  low  roof 
of  moveless  clouds,  which  seemed  to  be  frozen  in  theii 
places.  The  pillars  of  St.  Isaac's  Cathedral  —  splendid 
monoliths  of  granite,  sixty  feet  high  —  had  precipitated  the 
moisture  of  the  air,  and  stood  silvered  with  rime  from  base 
to  capital.  The  Column  of  Alexander,  the  bronze  statue 
of  Peter,  with  his  horse  poised  in  air  on  the  edge  of  the 
rock,  and  the  trees  on  the  long  esplanade  in  front  of  the 
Admiralty,  were  all  similarly  coated,  every  twig  rising 
as  rigid  as  iron  in  the  dark  air.  Only  the  huge  golden 
hemisphere  of  the  Cathedral  dome,  and  the  tall,  pointed 
golden  spire  of  the  Admiralty,  rose  above  the  gloom,  and 
half  shone  with  a  muffled,  sullen  glare.  A  few  people, 
swaddled  from  head  to  foot,  passed  rapidly  to  and  fro,  or 
a  droshky,  drawn  by  a  frosted  horse,  sped  away  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt.  Even  these  appeared 
rather  like  wintry  phantoms  than  creatures  filled  with  warm 
blood  and  breathing  the  breath  of  life.  The  vast  spaces  of 
the  capital,  the  magnitude  of  its  principal  edifices,  and  the 
display  of  gold  and  colors,  strengthened  the  general  aspect 
of  unreality,  by  introducing  so  many  inharmonious  ele- 
ments into  the  picture.  A  bleak  moor,  with  the  light  of  a 
single  cottage-window  shining  across  it,  would  have  been 
less  cold,  dead,  and  desolate. 

The  temperature,  I  may  here  mention,  was  never  very 
severe.  There  were  three  days  when  the  mercury  fluctu- 
ated between  15°  and  20°  below  zero,  five  days  when  it 
reached  10°  below,  and  perhaps  twenty  when  it  fell  to  zero, 
oi  a  degree  or  two  on  either  side.  The  mean  of  the  five 
winter  months  was  certainly  not  lower  than  -|-  12".  Quite 
as  nmch  rain  fell  as  snow.  After  two  or  three  days  of 
sharp  cold,  there  was  almost  invariably  a  day  of  rain  oi 


92  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

fog,  and  for  many  weeks  walking  was  so  difficult  that  we 
were  obliged  to  give  up  all  out-door  exercise  except 
skating  or  sliding.  The  streets  were  either  coated  with 
glassy  ice  or  they  were  a  foot  deep  in  slush.  There  is  more 
and  better  sleighing  in  the  vicinity  of  Boston  almost  any 
winter  than  in  St.  Petersburg  during  the  winter  of  1862-3. 
In  our  trips  to  the  Observatory  of  Pulkova,  twelve  miles 
distant,  we  were  frequently  obliged  to  leave  the  highway 
and  put  our  sled-runners  upon  the  frosted  grass  of  the 
meadows.  The  rapid  and  continual  changes  of  temperature 
were  more  trying  than  any  amount  of  steady  cold.  Grippe 
became  prevalent,  and  therefore  fashionable,  and  all  the 
endemic  diseases  of  St.  Petersburg  showed  themselves  in 
force.  The  city,  it  is  well  known,  is  built  upon  piles,  and 
most  of  the  inhabitants  suffer  from  them.  Children  look 
pale  and  wilted,  in  the  absence  of  the  sun,  and  special  care 
nmst  be  taken  of  those  under  five  years  of  age.  Some 
little  relatives  of  mine,  living  in  the  country,  had  their 
daily  tumble  in  the  snow,  and  thus  kept  ruddy ;  but  in  the 
city  this  is  not  possible,  and  we  had  many  anxious  days  be- 
fore the  long  darkness  was  over. 

As  soon  as  snow  had  fallen  and  freezing  weather  set  in, 
the  rough,  broken  ice  of  the  Neva  was  flooded  in  various 
places  for  skating-ponds,  and  the  work  of  erecting  ice-hills 
commenced.  There  were  speedily  a  number  of  the  latter 
in  full  play,  in  the  various  suburbs,  —  a  space  of  level 
ground,  at  least  a  furlong  in  length,  being  necessary.  They 
are  supported  by  subscription,  and  I  had  paid  ten  rubles 
for  permission  to  use  a  very  fine  one  on  the  farther  island, 
when  an  obliging  card  of  admission  came  for  the  gardens 
of  the  Taurida  Palace,  where  the  younger  members  of  the 
Imperial  family  skate  and  slide.  My  initiation,  however, 
took  place  at  the  first-named  locality,  whither  we  were  con- 
ducted by  an  old  American  resident  of  St  Petersburg. 

The  construction  of  these  ice-hills  is  very  simple.  They 
are  rude  towers  of  timber,  twenty  Ko  thirty  feet  in  height. 


WINTER-LIFE   IN  ST.    PETERSBURG. 


^ 


the  summit  of  which  is  reached  by  a  staircase  at  the  back, 
while  in  front  descends  a  steep  concave  of  planking  upon 
which  water  is  poured  until  it  is  covered  with  a  six-inch 
coating  of  solid  ice.  Raised  planks  at  the  side  keep  the 
gled  in  its  place  until  it  reaches  the  foot,  where  it  enters 
upon  an  icy  plain  two  to  four  hundred  yards  in  length  (in 
proportion  to  the  height  of  the  hill),  at  the  extremity  of 
which  rises  a  similar  hill,  facing  towards  the  first,  but  a 
little  on  one  side,  so  that  the  sleds  from  the  opposite  ends 
may  pass  without  collision. 

The  first  experience  of  this  diversion  is  fearful  to  a  per- 
son of  delicate  nerves.  The  pitch  of  the  descent  is  so 
sheer,  the  height  so  great  (apparently),  the  motion  of  the 
sled  so  swift,  and  its  course  so  easily  changed,  —  even  the 
lifting  of  a  hand  is  sufficient,  —  that  the  novice  is  almost 
sure  to  make  immediate  shipwreck.  The  sleds  are  small 
and  low,  with  smooth  iron  runners,  and  a  plush  cushion, 
upon  which  the  navigator  sits  bolt  upright  with  his  legs 
close  together,  projecting  over  the  front.  The  runners 
must  be  exactly  parallel  to  the  lines  of  the  course  at  start- 
ing, and  the  least  tendency  to  sway  to  either  side  must  be 
instantly  corrected  by  the  slightest  motion  of  the  hand. 

I  engaged  one  of  the  mujiks  in  attendance  to  pilot  rae 
on  my  first  voyage.  The  man  having  taken  his  position 
well  forward  on  the  little  sled,  I  knelt  upon  the  rear  end, 
where  there  was  barely  space  enough  for  my  knees,  placed 
my  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  awaited  the  result.  He 
shoved  the  sled  with  his  hands,  very  gently  and  carefully, 
to  the  brink  of  the  icy  steep :  then  there  was  a  moment's 
adjustment:  then  a  poise:  then  —  sinking  of  the  heart, 
cessation  of  breath,  giddy  roaring  and  whistling  of  the  air, 
and  I  found  myself  scudding  along  the  level  with  the  speed 
of  an  express  train.  I  never  happened  to  fall  out  of  a 
fourth-story  window,  but  I  immediately  understood  the  sen- 
sations of  the  unfortunate  persons  who  do.  It  was  an 
frightful  that  I  shuddered  when  we  reached  the  end  of  tfce 


94  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

course  and  the  man  coolly  began  ascending  the  steps  oi 
the  opposite  hill,  with  the  sled  under  his  arm.  But  my  com< 
panions  were  waiting  to  see  me  return,  so  I  mounted  after 
him,  knelt  again,  and  held  my  breath.  This  time,  knowing 
what  was  coming,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  our  descent,  and 
found  that  only  the  first  plunge  from  the  brink  was  threat- 
ening. The  lower  part  of  the  curve,  which  is  nearly  a 
parabolic  line,  is  more  gradual,  and  the  seeming  headlong 
fall  does  not  last  more  than  the  tenth  part  of  a  second. 
The  sensation,  nevertheless,  is  very  powerful,  having  all  the 
attraction,  without  the  reality,  of  danger. 

The  ice-hills  in  the  Taurida  Gardens  were  not  so  high, 
and  the  descent  was  less  abrupt:  the  course  was  the 
smooth  floor  of  an  intervening  lake,  which  was  kept  clear 
for  skating.  Here  I  borrowed  a  sled,  and  was  so  elated  at 
performing  the  feat  successfully,  on  the  first  attempt,  that 
I  offered  my  services  as  charioteer  to  a  lady  rash  enough 
to  accept  them.  The  increased  weight  gave  so  much  ad- 
ditional impetus  to  the  sled,  and  thus  rendered  its  guidance 
a  more  delicate  matter.  Finding  that  it  began  to  turn  even 
before  reaching  the  bottom,  I  put  down  my  hand  suddenly 
upon  the  ice.  The  effect  was  like  an  explosion  ;  we  struck 
the  edge  of  a  snow-bank,  and  were  thrown  entirely  over  it 
and  deeply  buried  on  the  opposite  side.  The  attendants 
picked  us  up  without  relaxing  a  muscle  of  their  grave,  re- 
spectful faces,  and  quietly  swept  the  ice  for  another  trial 
But  after  that  I  preferred  descending  alone. 

Grood  skaters  will  go  up  and  down  these  ice-hills  on  their 
skates.  The  feat  has  a  hazardous  look,  but  I  have  seen  it 
performed  by  boys  of  twelve.  The  young  Grand  Dukes 
who  visited  the  Gardens  generally  contented  themselves 
with  skating  around  the  lake  at  not  too  violent  a  speed- 
Some  ladies  of  the  court  circle  also  timidly  ventured  to  try 
the  amusement,  but  its  introduction  was  too  recent  for  theiffi 
to  show  much  proficiency.  On  the  Neva,  in  fact,  the  English 
were  the   best   skaters.     During    the  winter,  one  of  them 


WINTER-LIFE    IN    ST.    PETERSBUFG.  98 

crossed  the  Gulf  to  Cronstadt,  a  distance  of  twenty- two 
miles,  in  about  two  hours. 

Before  Christmas,  the  Lapps  came  down  from  the  North 
with  their  reindeer,  and  pitched  their  tents  on  the  river,  in 
front  of  the  Winter  Palace.  Instead  of  the  canoe-shaped 
pulk,  drawn  by  a  single  deer,  they  hitched  four  abreast  to 
an  ordinary  sled,  and  took  half  a  dozen  passengei"s  at  a 
time,  on  a  course  of  a  mile,  for  a  small  fee.  I  tried  it  once, 
for  a  child's  sake,  but  found  that  the  romance  of  reindeer 
travel  was  lost  without  the  pulk.  The  Russian  sleighs  are 
very  similar  to  our  own  for  driving  about  the  city  :  in  very 
cold  weather,  or  for  trips  into  the  country,  the  kibitha,  a 
heavy  closed  carriage  on  runners,  is  used.  To  my  eye, 
the  most  dashing  team  in  the  world  is  the  troika,  or  three- 
spar,  the  thill-horse  being  trained  to  trot  rapidly,  while 
the  other  two,  very  lightly  and  loosely  harnessed,  canter 
on  either  side  of  him.  From  the  ends  of  the  thills 
springs  a  wooden  arch,  called  the  duga,  rising  eighteen 
inches  above  the  horse's  shoulder,  and  usually  emblazoned 
with  gilding  and  brilliant  colors.  There  was  one  magnifi- 
cent troika  on  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt,  the  horses  of  which 
were  full-blooded,  jet-black  matches,  and  their  harness 
formed  of  overlapping  silver  scales.  The  Russians  being 
the  best  coachmen  in  the  world,  these  teams  dash  past  each 
other  at  furious  speed,  often  escaping  collision  by  the 
breadth  of  a  hair,  but  never  coming  in  violent  contact. 

With  the  approach  of  winter  the  nobility  returned  from 
their  estates,  the  diplomatists  froni  their  long  summer  va- 
cation, the  Imperial  Court  from  Moscow,  and  the  previous 
social  desolation  of  the  capital  came  speedily  to  an  end 
There  were  dinners  and  routs  in  abundance,  but  the  sea- 
son of  balls  was  not  fairly  inaugurated  until  invitations  had 
been  issued  for  the  first  at  the  Winter  Palace.  This  is 
usually  a  grand  affair,  the  guests  numbering  from  fifteen 
liundred  to  two  thousand.  We  were  agreeably  surprised  at 
finding  half-past   nine  fixed  as  the  hour  of  arrival,  and 


96  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

took  pains  to  be  punctual ;  but  there  weie  already  a  limsi 
dred  yards  of  carriages  in  advance.  The  toilet,  of  course^ 
must  be  fully  completed  at  home,  and  the  huge  pelisses  of 
fur  so  adjusted  as  not  to  disarrange  head- dresses,  lace,  crin 
oline,  or  uniform :  the  footmen,  must  be  prompt,  on  reach- 
ing the  covered  portal,  to  promote  speedy  alighting  and 
unwrapping,  which  being  accomplished,  each  sits  guard  for 
the  night  over  his  own  special  pile  of  pelisses  and  furred 
boots. 

When  the  dresses  are  shaken  out  and  the  gloves 
smoothed,  at  the  foot  of  the  grand  staircase,  an  usher,  in  a 
short,  bedizened  red  tunic  and  white  knee-breeches,  with  a 
cap  surmounted  by  three  colossal  white  plumes,  steps  before 
you  and  leads  the  way  onward  through  the  spacious  halls, 
ablaze  with  light  from  thousands  of  wax  candles.  I  always 
admired  the  silent  gravity  of  these  ushers,  and  their  slow, 
majestic,  almost  mysterious  march  —  until  one  morning 
at  home,  when  I  was  visited  by  four  common-looking  Rus- 
sians, in  blue  caftans,  who  bowed  nearly  to  the  floor  and 
muttered  congratulations.  It  was  a  deputation  of  the  Im- 
perial ushers,  making  their  rounds  for  New  Year's  gifts ! 

Although  the  streets  of  St.  Petersburg  are  lighted  with 
gas,  the  palaces  and  private  residences  are  still  illuminated 
only  with  wax  candles. ..  Gas  is  considered  plebeian,  but  it 
has  probably  also  been  found  to  be  disagreeable  in  the 
close  air  of  the  hermetically  sealed  apartments.  Candles 
are  used  in  such  profusion  that  I  am  told  thirty  thousand 
are  required  to  light  up  an  Imperial  ball.  The  quadruple 
rows  of  columns  which  support  the  Hall  of  St.  George  are 
spirally  entwined  with  garlands  of  wax-lights,  and  immense 
chandeliers  are  suspended  from  the  ceiling.  The  wicks 
of  each  colunm  are  connected  with  threads  dipped  in  some 
inflammable  mixture,  and  each  thread,  being  kindled  at 
the  bottom  at  the  same  instant,  the  light  is  carried  in  a  few 
seconds  to  every  candle  in  the  hall.  This  instantaneous 
kindling  of  so  many  thousand  wicks  has  a  magical  effect 


WINTER-LIFE    IN   ST.    PETERSBURG.  97 

At  the  door  of  the  great  hall  the  usher  steps  aside, 
bows  gravely,  and  returns,  and  one  of  the  dejuty  masters 
of  leremonies  receives  you.  .These  gentlemen  are  chosen 
from  among  the  most  distinguished  families  of  Russia,  and 
are,  without  exception,  so  remarkable  for  tact,  kindness, 
and  discretion,  that  the  multitude  falls,  almost  uncon- 
sciously, into  the  necessary  observances  ;  and  the  perfection 
of  ceremony,  which  hides  its  own  external  indications,  is 
attained.  Violations  of  etiquette  are  most  rare,  yet  no 
court  in  the  world  appears  more  simple  and  unconstrained 
in  its  forms. 

In  less  than  fifteen  minutes  after  the  appointed  time  the 
hall  is  filled,  and  a  blast  from  the  orchestra  announces  the 
entrance  of  the  Imperial  family.  The  ministers  and  chief 
personages  of  the  court  are  already  in  their  proper  places, 
and  the  representatives  of  foreign  nations  stand  on  one 
side  of  the  door-way  in  their  esfciblished  order  of  prece- 
dence (determined  by  length  of  residence  near  the  court), 
with  the  ladies  of  their  body  on  the  opposite  side. 

Alexander  II.  was  much  brighter  and  more  cheerful 
than  during  the  preceding  summer.  His  care-worn,  pre- 
occupied air  was  gone;  the  dangers  which  then  encom- 
passed him  had  subsided  ;  the  nobility,  although  still  chaf- 
ing fiercely  against  the  decree  of  emancipation,  were  slowly 
coming  to  the  conclusion  that  its  consummation  is  inevita- 
ble ;  and  the  Emperor  began  to  feel  that  his  great  work 
will  be  safely  accomplished.  His  dark-green  uniform  well 
becomes  his  stately  figure  nnd  clearly  chiseled,  symmetri- 
cal head.  He  is  Nicholas  recast  in  a  softer  mould,  wherein 
tenacity  of  purpose  is  substituted  for  rigid,  inflexible  will, 
and  the  development  of  the  nation  at  home  supplants  the 
ambition  for  predominant  political  influence  abroad.  This 
difference  is  expressed,  despite  the  strong  personal  resem- 
blance to  his  father,  in  the  more  frank  and  gentle  eye,  the 
fuller  and  more  sensitive  mouth,  and  the  rounder  lines  of 
jaw  and  forehead.  A  free»  natural  directness  of  manncf 
7 


98  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

and  speech  is  his  principal  characteristic.  He  wears  easily, 
almost  playfully,  the  yoke  of  court  ceremonial,  temporarilji 
casting  it  aside  when  troujjlesonie.  In  two  resjiccts  he 
differs  from  most  of  the  other  European  rulers  whom  I 
have  seen :  he  looks  the  sovereign,  and  he  unbends  as 
gracefblly  and  unostentatiously  as  a  man  risen  from  the 
ranks  of  the  people.  There  is  evidently  better  stuff  than 
kings  are  generally  made  of  in  the  Romdnoff  line. 

Grace  and  refinement,  rather  than  beauty,  distinguish 
the  Empress,  though  her  eyes  and  hair  deserve  the  latter 
epithet.  She  is  an  invalid,  and  appears  pale  and  some- 
what worn  ;  but  there  is  no  finer  group  of  children  in 
Europe  than  those  to  whom  she  has  given  birth.  Six  sons 
and  one  daughter  are  her  jewels ;  and  of  these,  the  third 
son,  Vladimir,  is  almost  ideally  handsome.  Her  dress  was 
at  once  simple  and  superb  —  a  cloud  of  snowy  tulle,  with 
a  scarf  of  pale-blue  velvet,  twisted  with  a  chain  of  the 
largest  diamonds  and  tied  with  a  knot  and  tassel  of  pearls» 
resting  half-way  down  the  skirt,  as  if  it  had  slipped  from 
her  waist.  On  another  occasion,  I  remember  her  wearing 
a  crown  of  five  stars,  the  centres  of  which  were  single 
enormous  rubies  and  the  rays  of  diamonds,  so  set  on  invis- 
ible wires  that  they  burned  in  the  air  over  her  head.  The 
splendor  which  was  a  ^art  of  her  role  was  always  made 
subordinate  to  rigid  taste,  and  herein  prominently  distin- 
guished her  from  many  of  the  Russian  ladies,  who  carried 
great  fortunes  upon  their  heads,  necks,  and  bosoms.  I 
had  several  opportunities  of  conversing  with  her,  generally 
upon  Art  and  Literature,  and  was  glad  to  find  that  she 
had  both  read  and  thought,  as  well  as  seen.  The  honored 
author  of  "  Evangeline  "  numbers  her  among  his  apprecia- 
tive readers. 

After  their  Majesties  have  made  the  circle  of  the  diplo- 
matic corps,  the  Polonaise,  which  always  opens  a  Court 
ball,  commences.  The  Grand  Dnkes  Nicholas  and  Mi- 
chael (brothers  of  the  Emperor),  and  the  younger  men> 


WtNTER-LIFE   IN   ST.    PETELSBURG.  96 

be  IS  of  the  Imperial  family,  take  part  in  it,  the  latter  evi- 
dently impatient  for  the  succeeding  quadrilles  and  waltres. 
When  this  is  finished,  all  palpable,  obtrusive  ceremony  is 
at  an  end.  Dancing,  conversation,  cards,  strolls  through 
the  sumptuous  halls,  fill  the  hours.  The  Emperor  wanders 
freely  through  the  crowd,  saluting  here  and  there  a  friend, 
exchanging  badinage  with  the  wittiest  ladies  (which  they 
all  seem  at  liberty  to  give  back,  without  the  least  embar- 
rassment), or  seeking  out  the  scarred  and  gray-haired 
officers  who  have  come  hither  from  all  parts  of  the  vast 
empire.  He  does  not  scrutinize  whether  or  not  your  back 
is  turned  towards  him  as  he  passes.  Once,  on  entering  a 
door  rather  hastily,  I  came  within  an  ace  of  a  personal  col- 
lision ;  whereupon  he  laughed  good-hunioredly,  caught  me 
by  the  hands,  and  saying,  "  It  would  have  been  a  shock, 
n'est-ce  pas  ?  "  hurried  on. 

To  me  the  most  delightful  part  of  the  Winter  Palace 
was  the  garden.  It  forms  one  of  the  suite  of  thirty  halls, 
some  of  them  three  hundred  feet  long,  on  the  second  story. 
In  this  garden,  which  is  perhaps  a  hundred  feet  square  by 
forty  in  height,  rise  clumps  of  Italian  cypress  and  laurel 
from  beds  of  emerald  turf  and  blooming  hyacinths.  In 
the  centre,  a  fountain  showers  over  fern-covered  rocks, 
and  the  gravel-walks  around  the  border  are  shaded  by  tall 
camellia-trees  in  white  and  crimson  bloom.  Lamps  of 
frosted  glass  hang  among  the  foliage,  and  diffuse  a  mellow 
golden  moonlight  over  the  enchanted  ground.  The  cor- 
ridor adjoining  the  garden  resembles  a  bosky  alley,  so 
completely  are  the  walls  hidden  by  flowering  shrubbery. 

Leaving  the  Imperial  family,  and  the  kindred  houses  of 
Leuchtenberg,  Oldenburg,  and  Mecklenburg,  :ill  of  which 
are  represented,  let  us  devote  a  little  atter  tion  to  the 
ladies,  and  the  crowd  of  distinguished,  though  unroyal  per- 
sonages. The  former  are  all  decolletees,  of  course,  —  even 
the  Countess -,  who,  I  am  positively  assured,  is  ninety- 
five   years  old ;    but   I  do  not  notice   much   uniformity  of 


100  RV-WAVS    OF    EUROPK. 

taste,  except  in  the  matter  of  head-dresses.  Chignon*  hav« 
not  yet  made  their  appearance,  but  there  are  huge  coila 
and  sweeps  of  hair  —  a  mane-like  munificence,  so  disposed 
as  to  reveal  the  art  and  conceal  the  artifice.  The  oma 
ments  are  chiefly  flowers,  though  here  and  there  I  see 
jewels,  coral,  mossy  stitks,  dead  leaves,  birds,  and  birds'- 
nests.  From  the  blonde  locks  of  yonder  princess  hang 
bunches  of  green  brook-grass,  and  a  fringe  of  the  same 
trails  from  her  bosom  and  skirt :  she  resembles  a  fished-up 
and  restored  Ophelia.  Here  passes  a  maiden  with  a 
picket-fence  of  rose  coral  as  a  berthe,  and  she  seems  to 
have  another  around  the  bottom  of  her  dress ;  but,  as  the 
mist  of  tulle  is  brushed  aside  in  passing,  we  can  detect 
that  the  latter  is  a  clever  chenHh  imitation.  There  is  an- 
other with  small  moss-covered  twigs  arranged  in  the  same 
way ;  and  yet  another  with  fifty  black-lace  butterflies,  of 
all  sizes,  clinging  to  her  yellow  satin  skirt.  All  this  swim- 
ming and  intermingling  mass  of  color  is  dotted  over  with 
sparkles  of  jewel-light ;  and  even  the  grand  hall,  with  its 
gilded  columns  and  thousands  of  tapers,  seems  but  a  sober 
frame  for  so  gorgeous  a  picture. 

I  can  only  pick  out  a  few  of  the  notable  men  present, 
because  there  is  no  space  to  give  biographies  as  well  as 
portraits.  That  man  of  sixty,  in  rich  civil  uniform,  who 
entered  with  the  Emperor,  and  who  at  once  reminds  an 
American  of  Edward  Everett  both  in  face  and  in  the  pol- 
ished grace  and  suavity  of  his  manner,  is  one  of  the  first 
statesmen  of  Europe  —  Prince  Alexander  Gortchakoff. 
Of  medium  height  and  robust  frame,  with  a  keen,  alert  eye, 
a  broad,  thoughtful  forehead,  and  a  wonderfully  sagacious 
mouth,  the  upper  lip  slightly  covering  the  under  one  at  the 
comers,  he  immediately  arrests  your  attention,  and  your  eye 
unconsciously  follows  him  as  he  makes  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  with  a  friendly  word  for  this  man  and  an  elegant 
rapier-thrust  for  that.  His  predominant  mood,  however, 
is  a  cheerful  good  nature  ;  his  wit  and  irony  belong  ratb^ 


WINTER-LIFE   IN   ST.    PETERSBURG.  lOl 

to  the  diplomatist  than  to  the  man.    There  is  no  sounder  or 
more  prudent  head  in  Russia. 

But  who  is  this  son  of  Anak,  approaching  from  the  cor- 
ridor? Towering  a  full  head  above  the  throng,  a  figure  of 
superb  strength  and  perfect  symmetry,  we  give  him  that 
hearty  admiration  which  is  due  to  a  man  who  illustrates 
and  embellishes  manhood.  In  this  case  we  can  give  it 
freely  ;  for  that  finely  balanced  head  holds  a  clear,  vig- 
orous brain  ;  those  large  blue  eyes  look  from  the  depths 
of  a  frank,  noble  nature ;  an6  in  that  broad  breast  beats 
a  heart  warm  with  love  for  his  coimtry,  and  good-will  for 
his  fellow-men,  whether  high  or  low.  I*^  is  Prince  Su- 
vdrofF,  the  Military  Governor  of  St.  Petersburg.  If  I 
were  to  spell  his  name  "  Suwarrow,"  you  would  know  who 
his  grandfather  was,  and  what  place  in  Russian  history  he 
fills.  In  a  double  sense  the  present  Prince  is  cast  in  an 
heroic  mould.  It  speaks  well  for  Russia  that  his  qualities 
are  so  truly  appreciated.  He  is  beloved  by  the  people,  and 
trusted  by  the  Imperial  Government :  for,  while  firm  in  his 
administration  of  afiairs,  he  is  humane,  —  while  cautious, 
energetic,  —  and  while  shrewd  and  skillful,  frank  and 
honest.  A  noble  man,  whose  like  I  wish  were  oflener  to 
be  found  in  the  world. 

Here  are  two  officers,  engaged  in  earnest  conversation 
The  little  old  man,  with  white  hair,  and  thin,  weather- 
beaten,  wrinkled  face,  is  Admiral  Baron  Wrangel,  whose 
Arctic  explorations  on  the  northern  coast  of  Siberia  are 
known  to  a\  geographers.  Having  read  of  them  as  a  boy, 
and  then  as  things  of  the  past,  I  was  greatly  delighted  at 
finding  the  brave  old  Admiral  s'ill  alive,  and  at  the  privi- 
lege of  taking  his  hand  and  hearing  him  talk  in  English 
as  fluent  as  my  own.  The  young  officer,  with  rosy  face, 
brown  moustache,  and  profile  strikingly  like  that  of  Gen- 
eral McClellan.  has  already  made  his  mark.  He  is  Gen- 
eral Ignatieff,  the  most  prominent  young  man  of  the  em- 
pire.    Although  scarcely  thirty-five,  he  has  already  filled 


102  BY-WAYS    01-    F.rROrE. 

special  missions  to  Bukhuria  and  Peking,  and  took  a  lead 
ing  part  in  the  Treaty  of  Tien  tsin.  At  the  time  of  which 
I  write,  he  was  Deputy  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs  and 
Chief  of  the  Asiatic  Department. 

I  might  mention  Count  BludofF,  the  venerable  President 
of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  ;  General  Todleben  ;  Adnjiral 
Liittke ;  and  the  distinguished  members  of  the  Galitzin, 
Narischkin,  Apnixin,  Dolgorouky,  and  Scheremetieff  fami- 
lies, who  are  present,  —  but  by  this  time  the  interminable 
mazourka  is  drawing  to  a  close,  and  a  master  of  ceremonies 
suggests  that  we  shall  step  into  an  adjoining  hall  to  awail 
the  signal  for  supper.  The  refreshments  previously  fur- 
nished consisted  simply  of  tea,  orgeat,  and  cooling  drinks 
made  of  cranberries,  Arctic  raspberries,  and  other  fruits ; 
it  is  two  hours  past  midnight,  and  we  may  frankly  confes.<i 
hunger. 

While  certain  other  guests  are  being  gathered  together, 
I  will  mention  another  decoration  of  the  halls,  peculiar  to 
St.  Petersburg.  On  either  side  of  all  the  doors  of  com- 
munication in  the  long  range  of  halls,  stands  a  negro  in 
rich  oriental  costume,  reminding  one  of  the  mute  palace- 
guards  in  the  Arabian  tales.  Happening  to  meet  one  of 
these  men  in  the  Sunmier  Garden,  I  addressed  him  in 
Arabic  ;  but  he  knew  only  enough  of  the  language  to  in- 
form me  that  he  was  born  in  Dar-Fur.  I  presume,  there- 
fore, they  were  obtained  in  Constantinople.  In  the  large 
halls,  which  are  illustrated  with  paintings  of  battles,  in  all 
the  Russian  campaigns  from  Pultowa  to  Sebastopol,  are 
posted  companies  of  soldiers  at  the  farther  end  —  a  differ- 
ent regiment  to  each  hall.  For  six  hours  these  men  and 
their  officers  stand  motionless  as  statues.  Not  a  move- 
ment, except  now  and  then  of  the  eyelid,  can  be  detected 
even  their  respiration  seems  to  be  suspended.  There  is 
something  weird  and  uncanny  in  such  a  preternatural 
silence  and  apparent  death-in-life.  I  became  impressed 
with  the  'dea  that  some  form  of  catalepsy  had  seized  and 


WINTER-LIFE   IN   ST.    PETERSBURG.  103 

bound  them  m  strong  trance.  The  eyeballs  were  fixed: 
they  stared  at  me  and  saw  me  not :  their  hands  were  glued 
to  the  weapons,  and  their  feet  to  the  floor.  I  suspect  there 
must  have  been  some  stolen  relief  when  no  guest  happened 
to  be  present,  yet,  come  when  I  might,  I  found  them  un- 
changed. When  I  reflected  that  the  men  were  undoubtedly 
very  proud  of  the  distinction  they  enjoyed,  and  that  their 
case  demanded  no  sympathy,  I  could  inspect  and  admire 
them  with  an  easy  mind. 

The  Grand  Chamberlain  now  advances,  followed  by  the 
Imperial  family,  behind  which,  in  a  certain  order  of  pre- 
cedence, the  guestis  fall  into  place,  and  we  presently  reach 
a  supper-hall,  gleaming  with  silver  and  crystal.  There 
are  five  others,  I  am  told,  and  each  of  the  two  thousand 
guests  has  his  chair  and  plate.  In  the  centre  stands  the 
Imperial  table,  on  a  low  platform :  between  wonderful 
epergnes  of  gold  spreads  a  bed  of  hyacinths  and  crocuses. 
Hundreds  of  other  epergnes,  of  massive  silver,  flash  from 
the  tables  around.  The  forks  and  spoons  are  gold,  the 
decanters  of  frosted  crystal,  covered  with  silver  vine-leaves  ; 
even  the  salt-cellars  are  works  of  art.  It  is  quite  proper' 
that  the  supper  should  be  substantial  ;  and  as  one  such  en- 
tertainment is  a  pattern  for  all  that  succeed,  T  may  be  al- 
lowed to  mention  the  principal  dishes  :  creme  de  Vorge,  pate 
de  foie  gras,  cutlets  of  fowl,  game,  asparagus,  and  salad, 
followed  by  fruits,  ices,  and  bon-bons,  and  moistened  with 
claret,  Sauterne,  and  Champagne.  I  confess,  however,  that 
the  superb  silver  chasing,  and  the  balmy  hyacinths  which 
almost  leaved  over  my  plate,  feasted  my  senses  quite  as 
much  as  the  delicate  viands. 

After  supper  the  company  returns  to  the  Hall  of  St 
George,  a  quadrille  or  two  is  danced  to  promote  digestion, 
and  the  members  of  ihe  Imperial  family,  bowing  first  to 
the  diplomatic  corps,  and  then  to  the  other  guests,  retire 
to  the  private  apartments  of  the  palace.  Now  we  are  at 
liberty  to  leave,  —  not  sooner,  —  and  rapidly,  yet  not  with 


104  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

undign.tied  haste,  seek  the  main  staircase.  Cloaking  and 
booting  (Ivan  being  on  hand,  with  eyes  like  a  lynx)  are 
performed  without  regard  to  head-dress  or  unifoim,  and 
we  wait  rhile  the  carriages  are  being  called,  until  the 
proper  pozlannik  turns  up.  If  we  envied  those  who  got  ofl 
sooner,  we  are  now  envied  by  those  who  still  must  wait, 
bulky  in  black  satin  or  cloth,  in  sable  or  raccoon  skin.  It 
is  half  past  three  when  we  reach  home,  and  there  are  still 
six  hours  until  sunrise. 

The  succeeding  balls,  whether  given  by  the  Grand 
Dukes,  the  principal  members  of  the  Russian  nobility,  or 
the  heads  of  foreign  legations,  were  conducted  on  the 
same  plan,  except  that,  in  the  latter  instances,  the  guests 
were  not  so  punctual  in  arriving.  The  pleasantest  of  the 
season  was  one  given  by  the  Emperor  in  the  Hermitage 
Palace.  The  guests,  only  two  hundred  in  number,  were 
bidden  to  come  in  ordinary  evening-dress,  and  their  Im- 
perial Majesties  moved  about  among  them  as  simply  and 
unostentatiously  as  any  well-bred  American  host  and  host- 
ess. On  a  staircase  at  one  side  of  the  Moorish  Hall  sat  a 
distinguished  Hungarian  artist,  sketching  the  scene,  with 
its  principal  figures,  for  a  picture. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  how  much  true  social  culture  ex- 
ists in  St.  Petersburg.'  Aristocratic  manners,  in  their  per- 
fection, are  simply  democratic ;  but  this  is  a  truth  which  is 
scarcely  recognized  by  the  nobility  of  Germany,  and  only 
partially  by  that  of  England.  The  habits  of  refined  society 
are  very  much  the  same  everywhere.  The  man  or  woman 
of  real  culture  recognizes  certain  forms  as  necessary,  that 
social  intercourse  may  be  ordered  instead  of  being  arbitrary 
and  chaotic  ;  but  these  forms  must  not  be  allowed  to  limit 
the  free,  expansive  contact  of  mind  with  mind  and  charac- 
ter with  character  which  is  the  charm  and  blessing  of  society. 
Those  who  meet  within  the  same  walls  meet  upon  an  equal 
footing,  and  all  accidental  distinctions  cease  for  the  time.  I 
found  these  principles  acted  upon  to  quite  as  full  an  ex 


WINTER-LIFE   IN   ST.   PITERSBURG.  105 

tent  as  (perhaps  even  more  so  thau)  they  art  it  home. 
One  of  the  members  of  the  Imperial  family,  even,  expressed 
to  me  the  intense  weariness  occasioned  by  the  observance 
of  the  necessary  forms  of  court  life,  and  the  wish  that  they 
might  be  made  as  simple  as  possible. 

I  was  interested  in  extending  my  acquaintance  among 
the  Russian  nobility,  as  they,  to  a  certain  extent,  represent 
the  national  culture.  So  far  as  my  observations  reached,  I 
found  that  the  women  were  better  read,  and  had  more 
general  knowledge  of  art,  literature,  and  even  politics,  than 
the  men.  My  most  instructive  intercourse  was  with  the 
former.  It  seemed  that  most  men  (here  I  am  not  speak- 
ing of  the  members  of  the  Imperial  Government)  had  each 
his  specialty,  beyond  which  he  showed  but  a  limited  in 
terest.  There  was  one  distinguished  circle,  however 
where  the  intellectual  level  of  the  conversation  was  as  high 
as  I  have  ever  found  it  anywhere,  and  where  the  only  title 
to  admission  prescribed  by  the  noble  host  was  the  capacity 
to  take  part  in  it.  In  that  cii'cle  I  heard  not  only  the 
Polish  Question  discussed,  but  the  Unity  or  Diversity  of 
Races,  Modern  and  Classic  Art,  Strauss,  Emer-son,  and 
Victor  Hugo,  the  ladies  contributing  their  share.  At  a 
soiree  given  by  the  Princess  Lvoflf,  I  met  Richara  vVagner, 
the  composer,  Rubinstein,  the  pianist,  and  a  number  of 
artists  and  literary  men. 

A  society,  the  head  of  which  is  a  court,  anti  where  ex- 
ternals, of  necessity,  must  be  first  considerea,  is  not  the 
place  to  seek  for  true  and  lasting  intimacies  ;  out  one  may 
find  what  is  next  best,  in  a  social  sense  —  cheerful  and 
cordial  intercourse.  The  circle  of  agreeable  md  friendly 
acquaintance  continually  enlarged  ;  and  I  learned  to  know 
one  friend  (and  perhaps  one  should  hardly  expect  more 
than  that  in  any  year)  whom  I  shall  not  forget,  nor  he  me, 
though  we  never  meet  again.  The  Russians  have  been 
unjustly  accused  of  a  lack  of  that  steady,  tender,  faithful 
depth  of  character  upon  which  friendship  must  rest     Let 


106  BY-WAYS    OF   EUROPE. 

US  not  forget  that  one  of  Washington  Irving's  dearest 
friends  was  Prince  Dolgorouki. 

Nevertheless,  the  constant  succession  of  entertainments, 
agreeable  as  they  were,  became  in  the  end  fatiguing  to 
quiet  persons  like  ourselves.  The  routs  and  soirees,  it  is 
true,  were  more  informal  and  imceremonious  :  one  was  not 
obliged  to  spend  more  than  an  hour  at  each,  but  then  one 
was  not  expected  to  arrive  before  eleven  o'clock.  We  fell, 
perforce,  into  the  habits  of  the  place,  —  of  sleeping  two  or 
three  hours  after  dinner,  then  rising,  and  after  a  cup  of 
strong  tea,  dressing  for  the  evening.  After  Carnival,  the 
balls  ceased ;  but  there  were  still  frequent  routs,  until 
Easter  week  closed  the  season. 

I  was  indebted  to  Admiral  Liittke,  President  of  the  Im- 
perial Geographical  Society,  for  an  invitation  to  attend  its 
sessions,  some  of  which  were  of  the  most  interesting  char- 
acter. INIy  great  regret  was,  that  a  very  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  the  language  prevented  me  from  understanding 
much  of  the  proceedings.  On  one  occasion,  while  a  paper 
on  the  survey  of  the  Caspian  Sea  was  being  read,  a  tall, 
stately  gentleman,  sitting  at  the  table  beside  me,  obligingly 
translated  all  the  principal  facts  into  French,  as  they  were 
stated.  I  afterwards  foynd  that  he  was  Count  Panin,  Min- 
ister of  Justice.  In  the  transactions  of  the  various  literary 
•and  scientific  societies,  the  Russian  language  has  now  en- 
tirely supplanted  the  French,  although  the  latter  keeps  its 
place  in  the  salons,  chiefly  on  account  of  the  foreign  ele- 
ment. The  Empress  has  weekly  conversazioni,  at  which 
only  Russian  is  spoken,  and  to  which  no  foreigners  are 
admitted.  It  is  becoming  fashionable  to  have  visiting- 
cards  in  both  languages. 

Of  all  the  ceremonies  which  occurred  during  the  winter, 
that  of  New  Years  Day  (January  13th,  N.  S.)  was  most 
interesting.  After  the  members  of  the  different  legations 
had  called  in  a  body  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  Emperor 
and  Empress,  the  latter  received  the  ladies  :f  the  Cour^ 


WINTER-LIFE   IN   ST.    PETERSBURG.  107 

who,  on  this  occasion,  wore  the  national  costume,  in  the 
grand  hall.  We  were  permitted  to  witness  the  spectacle, 
which  is  unique  of  its  kind  and  wonderfully  beautiful.  The 
Empress,  having  taken  her  place  alone  near  one  end  of 
the  hall,  with  the  Emperor  and  his  family  at  a  little  dis- 
tance on  her  right,  the  doors  at  the  other  end  —  three  hun- 
dred feet  distant  —  were  thrown  open,  and  a  gorgeous  pro- 
cession approached,  sweeping  past  the  gilded  columns,  and 
growing  with  every  step  in  color  and  splendor.  The  ladies 
walked  in  single  file,  about  eight  feet  apart,  each  holding 
the  train  of  the  one  preceding  her.  The  costume  consists 
of  a  high,  crescent-shaped  head-dress  of  velvet  covered  with 
jewels  ;  a  short,  embroidered  corsage  of  silk  or  velvet,  with 
open  sleeves ;  a  full  skirt  and  sweeping  train  of  velvet  or 
satin  or  moire,  with  a  deep  border  of  point-lace.  As  the 
first  lady  approached  the  Empress,  her  successor  dropped 
the  train,  spreading  it,  by  a  dexterous  movement,  to  its 
full  breadth  on  the  polished  floor.  The  lady,  thus  re- 
leased, bent  her  knee,  and  took  the  Empress's  hand  to  kiss 
it,  which  the  latter  prevented  by  gracefully  lifting  her  and 
saluting  her  on  the  forehead.  After  a  few  words  of  con- 
gratulation, she  passed  across  the  hall,  making  a  profound 
obeisance  to  the  Emperor  on  the  way. 

This  was  the  most  trying  part  of  the  ceremony.  She 
was  alone  and  unsupported,  with  all  eyes  upon  her,  and  it 
required  no  slight  amount  of  skill  and  self-possession  to 
cross  the  hall,  bow,  and  carry  her  superb  train  to  the  op- 
posite side,  without  turning  her  back  on  the  Imperial  pres- 
ence. At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  dazzling  group  gathered 
on  the  right  equaled  in  numbers  the  long  line  marching  up 
on  the  left  —  and  still  they  came.  It  was  a  luxury  of  color, 
scarcely  to  be  described,  —  all  flowery  and  dewy  tints,  in 
a  setting  of  white  and  gold.  There  were  crimson,  maroon, 
blue,  lilac,  salmon,  peach-blossom,  mauve,  magenta,  silver- 
gray,  pearl-rose,  daffodil,  pale  orange,  purple,  pea-green, 
sea-green,  scarlet,  violet,  drab,  and  pink  —  and,  whether 


108  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

by  accident  or  design,  the  succession  of  colors  nevei 
shocked  by  too  violent  contrast.  This  was  the  perfection 
of  scenic  effect ;  and  we  lingered,  enjoying  it  exquisitely, 
until  the  last  of  several  hundred  ladies  closed  the  radiant 
spectacle. 

The  festival  of  Epiphany  is  celebrated  by  the  blessing 
of  the  waters  of  the  Neva,  followed  by  a  grand  military 
review  on  the  Admiralty  Square.  We  were  invited  to 
witness  both  ceremonies  from  the  windows  of  the  Winter 
Palace,  where,  through  the  kindness  of  Prince  Dolgorouki, 
we  obtained  favorable  points  of  view.  As  the  ceremonies 
last  two  or  three  hours,  an  elegant  breakfast  was  served 
to  the  guests  in  the  Moorish  Hall.  The  blessing  of  the 
Neva  is  a  religious  festival,  with  the  accompaniment  of 
tapers,  incense,  and  chanting  choirs,  and  we  could  only  see 
that  the  Emperor  performed  his  part  uncloaked  and  bare- 
headed in  the  freezing  air,  finishing  by  descending  the 
steps  of  an  improvised  chapel  and  well  (the  building  an- 
swered both  purposes),  and  drinking  the  water  from  a  hole 
in  the  ice.  Far  and  wide  over  the  frozen  surface  similar 
holes  were  cut,  where,  during  the  remainder  of  the  day, 
priests  officiated,  and  thousands  of  the  common  people 
were  baptized  by  immersion.  As  they  generally  came  out 
covered  with  ice,  warm  booths  were  provided  for  them  on 
the  banks,  where  they  thawed  themselves  out,  rejoicing 
that  they  would  now  escape  sickness  or  misfortune  for  a 
year  to  come. 

The  review  requires  a  practiced  military  pen  to  do  it 
justice,  and  I  fear  I  must  give  up  the  attempt.  It  was  a 
"  small  review,"  only  about  twenty-five  thousand  troops  be- 
ing under  arms.  In  the  uniformity  of  size  and  build  of 
the  men,  exactness  of  equipment,  and  precision  of  move- 
ment, it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  anything  more  per- 
fect All  sense  of  the  individual  soldier  was  lost  in  the 
grand  sweep  and  wheel  and  march  of  the  columns.  The 
Circassian  chiefs,  in  their  steel  skull-caps  and  shirts  of  chain 


WINTER-LIFE   IN    ST.    PETERSBURG.  109 

mail  seemed  to  have  ridden  into  their  places  direct  from 
the  Crusades.  The  Cossacks  of  the  Don,  the  Ukraine,  and 
the  Ural,  managed  their  little  brown  or  black  horses  (each 
regiment  having  its  own  color)  so  wonderfully,  that,  as  we 
looked  down  upon  them,  each  line  resembled  a  giant  cater- 
pillar, moving  sidewise  with  its  thousand  legs  creeping  as 
one.  These  novel  and  picturesque  elements  constituted 
the  principal  charm  of  the  spectacle. 

The  passing  away  of  winter  was  signalized  by  an  increase 
of  daylight  rather  than  a  decrease  of  cold.  The  rivers 
were  still  locked,  the  ice-hills  frequented,  the  landscape 
dull  and  dead ;  but  by  the  beginning  of  February  we  could 
detect  signs  of  the  returning  sun.  When  the  sky  was  clear 
(a  thing  of  rarest  occurrence),  there  was  white  light  at  noon- 
day, instead  of  the  mournful  yellow  or  orange  gloom  of  the 
previous  two  months.  After  the  change  had  fairly  set  in, 
it  proceeded  more  and  more  rapidly,  until  our  sunshine  was 
increased  at  the  rate  of  seven  or  eight  minutes  per  day. 
When  the  vernal  equinox  came,  and  we  could  sit  down  to 
dinner  at  sunset,  the  spell  of  death  seemed  to  be  at  last 
broken.  The  fashionable  drive,  of  an  afternoon,  changed 
from  the  Nevskoi  Prospekt  to  the  Palace  Quay  on  the 
Neva :  the  Summer  Garden  was  cleared  of  snow,  and  its 
statues  one  by  one  unboxed  ;  in  fine  days  we  could  walk 
there,  and  there  coax  back  the  faded  color  to  a  child's 
face.  There,  too,  walked  Alexander  II.,  one  of  the  crowd, 
leading  his  little  daughter  by  the  hand ;  and  thither,  in  a 
plain  little  caleche,  drove  the  Empress,  with  her  youngest 
baby  on  her  lap. 

But  when  the  first  ten  days  of  April  had  passed  and 
there  was  still  no  sign  of  spring,  we  began  to  grow  impa- 
tient. How  often  I  watched  the  hedges  around  the  Michai- 
lofFsky  Palace,  knowing  that  the  buds  would  there  first 
swell !  How  we  longed  for  a  shimmer  of  green  under  the 
browu  grass,  an  alder  tassel,  a  flush  of  yellow  on  the  willo^^ 
wands,  a  sight  of  rushing  green  water  !    One  day,  a  week  or 


110  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

SO  later,  we  we.e  engaged  to  dine  on  Vassili  Ostrow.  1 1. ad 
been  busily  occupied  until  late  in  the  afternc  ton,  and  when 
we  drove  out  upon  the  square,  I  glanced,  as  usual,  towards 
Peter  the  Great.  Lo!  behind  hiin  flashed  and  glittered 
the  free,  the  rejoicing  Neva !  Here  and  there  floated  a 
cake  of  sullen  ice,  but  the  great  river  had  bared  his  breast 
to  the  sun,  which  welcomed  him  after  six  months  of  ab- 
sence. The  upper  pontoon-bridges  were  already  spanned 
and  crowded  with  travel,  but  the  lower  one,  carried  away 
before  it  could  be  secured,  had  been  borne  down  by  the 
stream  and  jammed  against  and  under  the  solid  granite 
and  iron  of  the  Nikolai  Bridge.  There  was  a  terrible 
crowd  and  confusion  at  the  latter  place;  all  travel  was 
stopped,  and  we  could  get  neither  forward  nor  backward. 
Presently,  however,  the  Emperor  appeared  upon  the  scene  ,' 
order  was  the  instant  result;  the  slow  officials  worked 
with  a  will ;  and  we  finally  reached  our  host's  residence 
half  an  hour  behind  the  time.  As  we  returned,  at  night, 
there  was  twilight  along  the  northern  sky,  and  the  stars 
sparkled  on  the  crystal  bosom  of  the  river. 

This  was  the  snapping  of  winter's  toughest  fetter,  but  it 
was  not  yet  spring.  Before  I  could  detect  any  sign  of  re- 
turning life  in  Nature,  May  had  come.  Then,  little  by 
little,  the  twigs  in  tlie  mrfrshy  thickets  began  to  show  yel- 
low and  purple  and  brown,  the  lilac-buds  to  swell,  and  some 
blades  of  fresh  grass  to  peep  forth  in  sheltered  places. 
This,  although  we  had  sixteen  hours  of  sunshine,  with  an 
evening  twilight  which  shifted  into  dusky  dawn  under  the 
North  Star!  I  think  it  was  on  the  13th  of  May  that  I 
first  realized  that  the  season  had  changed,  and  for  the  last 
time  saw  the  noble-hearted  ruler  who  is  the  central  figure 
of  these  memories.  The  People's  Festival  —  a  sort  of 
Russian  May-day  —  took  place  at  Catharinenhof,  a  park 
and  palace  of  the  famous  Empress,  near  the  shore  of  the 
Finnish  Gulf.  The  festival,  that  year,  had  an  unusual  sig 
nificance.     On  the  3d  of  March  the  edict  of  Enrancipatioii 


WINTER-LIFE   IN   ST.    PETERSBURG.  Ill 

was  finally  consummated,  and  twenty-two  millions  of  serfs 
became  forever  free :  the  Polish  troubles  and  the  menace 
of  the  Western  powers  had  consolidated  the  restless  nobles 
the  patient  people,  and  the  plotting  revolutionists,  the  or- 
thodox and  dissenting  sects,  into  one  great  national  party 
resolved  to  support  the  Emperor  and  maintain  the  integ- 
rit)-  of  the  Russian  territory:  and  thus  the  nation  was 
marvelously  strengthened  by  the  very  blow  intended  to 
cripple  it. 

At  least  a  hundred  thousand  of  the  common  people 
(possibly,  twice  that  number)  were  gathered  together  in 
the  park  of  Catharinenhof.  There  were  booths,  shows, 
flying-horses,  refreshment  saloons,  jugglers,  circuses,  bal- 
loons, and  exhibitions  of  all  kinds :  the  sky  was  fair,  the 
turf  green  and  elastic,  and  the  swelling  birch-buds  scented 
the  air.  I  wandered  about  for  hours,  watching  the  lazy, 
contented  people,  as  they  leaped  and  ran,  rolled  on  the 
grass,  pulled  off  their  big  boots  and  aired  their  naked  legs, 
or  laughed  and  sang  in  jolly  chorus.  About  three  in  the 
afternoon  there  was  a  movement  in  the  main  avenue  of  the 
park.  Hundreds  of  young  mujiks  appeared,  running  at 
full  speed,  shouting  out,  tossing  their  caps  high  in  the  air, 
and  giving  their  long,  blonde  locks  to  the  wind.  Instantly 
the  crowd  collected  on  each  side,  many  springing  like  cats 
into  the  trees ;  booths  and  shows  were  deserted,  and  an 
immense  multitude  hedged  the  avenue.  Behind  the  leap- 
ing, shouting,  cap-tossing  avant-garde  came  the  Emperor, 
with  three  sons  and  a  dozen  generals,  on  horseback,  canter- 
ing lightly.  One  cheer  went  up  from  scores  of  thousands ; 
hats  darkened  the  air ;  eyes  blazing  with  filial  veneration 
followed  the  stately  figure  of  the  monarch,  as  he  passed  by, 
gratefully  smiling  and  greeting  on  either  hand.  I  stood 
among  the  people  and  watched  their  faces.  I  saw  the 
phlegmatic  Slavonic  features  transformed  with  a  sudden 
and  powerful  expression  of  love,  of  devotion,  of  gratitude, 
and  then  I  knew  that  the  throne  of  Alexander  II.  rested 


112  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

on  a  better  basis  than  tradition  or  force.  I  saw  therein  an* 
other  side  of  this  shrewd,  cunning,  patient,  and  childlike 
race,  whom  no  other  European  race  yet  understands  and 
appreciates  —  a  race  yet  in  the  germ,  but  with  qualities 
out  of  which  a  people,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  may 
be  developed. 

The  month  of  May  was  dark,  rainy,  and  cold ;  and  when 
I  left  St.  Petersburg,  at  its  close,  everybody  said  that  a  few 
days  would  bring  the  summer.  The  leaves  were  opening, 
almost  visibly  from  hour  to  hour.  Winter  was  really  over, 
and  summer  was  just  at  the  door ,  but  I  found,  upon  reflec- 
tion, that  I  had  not  had  the  slightest  experience  of  spring. 


1HE   LITTLE  LAND  OF  APPENZELl 


The  traveller  who  first  reaches  the  Lake  of  Constance 
at  Lindau,  or  crosses  that  sheet  of  pale  green  water  to  one 
of  the  ports  on  the  opposite  Swiss  shore,  cannot  fail  to 
notice  the  bold  heights  to  the  southward  which  thrust 
themselves  between  the  opening  of  the  Rhine  Valley  and 
the  long,  undulating  ridges  of  the  Canton  Thurgau.  These 
heights,  broken  by  many  a  dimly  hinted  valley  and  ravine, 
appear  to  be  the  front  of  an  Alpine  table-land.  Houses 
and  villages,  scattered  over  the  steep  ascending  plane, 
present  themselves  distinctly  to  the  eye ;  the  various  green 
of  forest  and  pasture  land  is  rarely  interrupted  by  the  gray 
of  rocky  walls ;  and  the  afternoon  sun  touches  the  topmost 
edge  of  each  successive  elevation  with  a  sharp  outline  of 
golden  light,  through  the  rich  gloom  of  the  shaded  slopes. 
Behind  and  over  this  region  rise  the  serrated  peaks  of  the 
Sentis  Alp,  standing  in  advance  of  the  farther  ice-fields  of 
Glarus,  like  an  outer  fortress,  garrisoned  in  summer  by 
the  merest  forlorn  hope  of  snow. 

The  green  fronts  nearest  the  lake,  and  the  lower  lands 
falling  away  to  the  right  and  left,  belong  to  the  Canton  of 
St.  Gall ;  but  all  aloft,  beyond  that  frontier  marked  by  the 
.sinking  sun,  lies  the  Appenzeller  Landli,  as  it  is  called  in 
the  endearing  diminutive  of  the  Swiss  German  tongue,  — 
the  Little  Land  of  Appenzell. 

If,  leaving  the  Lake  of  Constance  by  the  Rhine  Valley, 
you  ascend  to  Ragatz  and  the  Baths  of  Pfeffers,  thence 
turn  westward  to  the  Lake  of  Wallenstatt,  cross  into  the 
valley  of  the  Toggenburg,  and  so  make  your  way  northward 
and  eastward  around  the  base  of  the  mountains  back  to 
the  starting  point,  you  will  have  passed  only  through  the 


116  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

territory  of  St.  Gall.  Appenzell  is  an  Alpine  island,  whollj 
surrounded  by  the  former  canton.  From  whatever  side 
you  approach,  you  must  climb  in  order  to  get  into  it  It  is 
a  nearly  circular  tract,  falling  from  the  south  towards  the 
iiorth,  but  lifted,  at  almost  every  point,  over  the  adjoining 
ands.  This  altitude  and  isolation  is  an  historical  as  well 
\s  a  physical  peculiarity.  When  the  Abbots  of  St.  Gall, 
'ifter  having  reduced  the  entire  population  of  what  is  now 
two  cantons  to  serfdom,  became  more  oppressive  as  their 
power  increased,  it  was  the  mountain  shepherds  who,  in 
the  year  1403,  struck  the  first  blow  for  liberty.  Once  free, 
they  kept  their  freedom,  and  established  a  rude  democracy 
on  the  heights,  similar  in  form  and  spirit  to  the  league 
which  the  Forest  Cantons  had  founded  nearly  a  century 
before.  An  echo  from  the  meadow  of  Griitli  reached  the 
wild  valleys  around  the  Sentis,  and  Appenzell,  by  the  mid- 
dle of  the  fifteenth  century,  became  one  of  the  original 
states  out  of  which  Switzerland  has  grown. 

I  find  something  very  touching  and  admirable  in  this 
fragment  of  hardly  noticed  history.  The  people  isolated 
themselves  by  their  own  act,  held  together,  organized  a 
simple  yet  sufficient  government,  and  maintained  their 
sturdy  independence,  while  their  brethren  on  every  side, 
in  the  richer  lands  below  them,  were  fast  bound  in  the 
gyves  of  a  priestly  despotism.  Individual  liberty  seems  to 
be  a  condition  inseparable  from  mountain  life ;  that  once 
attained,  all  other  influences  are  conservative  in  their  char- 
acter. The  cantons  of  Unterwalden,  Schwytz,  Glarus,  and 
Appenzell  retain  to-day  the  simple,  primitive  forms  of 
democracy  which  had  their  origin  in  the  spirit  of  the  peo- 
ple nearly  six  hundred  years  ago. 

Twice  had  I  looked  up  to  the  little  mountain  republic 
from  the  lower  lands  to  the  northward,  with  the  desire  and 
the  determination  to  climb  one  day  the  green  buttresses 
which  support  it  on  every  side  ;  so,  when  I  left  St.  Gall  on 
a  misty  morning,  in  a  little  open  carriage,  bound  for  Trogen, 


THE  LITTLE  LAND   OF  APPENZELL.  tit 

it  was  with  the  pleasant  knowledge  that  a  land  almost  un- 
known to  tourists  lay  before  me.  The  only  summer  visit- 
ors are  invalids,  mostly  from  Eastern  Switzerland  and 
Germany,  who  go  up  to  drink  the  whey  of  goats'  milk  ; 
and,  although  the  fabrics  woven  by  the  people  are  known 
to  the  world  of  fashion  in  all  countries,  few  indeed  are  the 
travellers  who  turn  aside  from  the  near  highways.  The 
landlord  in  St.  Gall  told  me  that  his  guests  were  almost 
wholly  commercial  travellers,  and  my  subsequent  experi- ' 
ence  among  an  unspoiled  people  convinced  me  that  I  was 
almost  a  pioneer  in  the  paths  I  traversed. 

It  was  the  last  Saturday  in  April,  and  at  least  a  month 
too  soon  for  the  proper  enjoyment  of  the  journey  ;  but  on 
the  following  day  the  Landsgemeinde,  or  Assembly  of  the 
People,  was  to  be  held  at  Hundwyl,  in  the  manner  and  with 
the  ceremonies  which  have  been  annually  observed  for  the 
last  three  or  four  hundred  years.  This  circumstance  de- 
termined the  time  of  my  visit  I  wished  to  study  the 
character  of  an  Alpine  democracy,  so  pure  that  it  has  not 
yet  adopted  even  the  representative  principle,  —  to  be  with 
and  among  a  portion  of  the  Swiss  people  at  a  time  when 
they  are  most  truly  themselves,  rather  than  look  at  them 
through  the  medium  of  conventional  guides,  on  lines  of 
travel  which  have  now  lost  everything  of  Switzerland  ex- 
cept the  scenery. 

There  was  bad  weather  behind,  and,  I  feared,  bad 
weather  before  me.  "  The  sun  will  soon  drive  away  these 
mists,"  said  the  postilion,  "  and  when  we  get  up  yonder, 
you  will  see  what  a  prospect  there  will  be."  In  the  rich 
valley  of  St.  Gall,  out  of  which  we  mounted,  the  scattered 
houses  and  cloud-like  belts  of  blossoming  cherry-trees 
almost  hid  the  green  ;  but  it  sloped  up  and  down,  on 
either  side  of  the  rising  road,  glittering  with  flowers  and 
dew,  in  the  flying  gleams  of  sunshine.  Over  us  hung 
masses  of  gray  cloud,  which  stretched  across  the  valley, 
hooded  the  opposite  hills,  and  sank  into  a  dense  mass  ovef 


118  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

the  Lake  of  Constance.  As  we  passed  through  this  beiti 
and  rejoiced  in  the  growing  clearness  of  the  upper  sky,  I 
saw  that  my  only  prospect  would  be  in  cloud-land.  After 
many  windings,  along  which  the  blossoms  and  buds  of  the 
fruit-trees  indicated  the  altitude  as  exactly  as  any  barom- 
eter, we  finally  reached  the  crest  of  the  topmost  height,  the 
frontier  of  Appenzell  and  the  battle-field  of  Voglisegg, 
where  the  herdsman  first  measured  his  strength  with  the 
soldier  and  the  monk,  and  was  victorious. 

"Whereabouts  was  the  battle  fought?"  I  asked  the 
postilion. 

"  Up  and  down,  and  all  around  here,"  said  he,  stopping 
the  carriage  at  the  summit. 

I  stood  up  and  looked  to  the  north.  Seen  from  above, 
the  mist  had  gathered  into  dense,  rounded  clouds,  touched 
with  silver  on  their  upper  edges.  They  hung  over  the  lake, 
rolling  into  every  bay  and  spreading  from  shore  to  shore, 
so  that  not  a  gleam  of  water  was  visible ;  but  over  their 
heaving  and  tossing  silence  rose,  far  away,  the  mountains 
of  the  four  German  states  beyond  the  lake.  An  Alp  in 
Vorarlberg  made  a  shining  island  in  the  sky.  The  postil- 
ion was  loud  in  his  regrets,  yet  I  thought  the  picture  best 
as  it  was.  On  the  right  lay  the  land  of  Appenzell  —  not  a 
table-land,  but  a  region  of  mountain  ridge  and  summit,  of 
valley  and  deep,  dark  gorge,  green  as  emerald  up  to  the 
line  of  snow,  and  so  thickly  studded  with  dwellings,  grouped 
or  isolated,  that  there  seemed  to  be  one  scattered  village 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  To  the  south,  over  forests 
of  fir,  the  Sentis  lifted  his  huge  towers  of  rock,  crowned 
with  white,  wintry  pyramids. 

"  Here,  where  we  are,"  said  the  postilion,  "  was  the  first 
battle ;  but  there  was  another,  two  years  afterwards,  over 
there,  the  other  side  of  Trogen,  where  the  road  goes  down 
to  the  Rhine.  Stoss  is  the  place,  and  there's  a  chapel  built 
on  the  very  spot.  Duke  Frederick  of  Austria  came  to  help 
the  Abbot  Kuno,  and  the  Appenzellers  were  only  one  to 


THE    LITTLE   LAND    OF   APPENZELL.  119 

teu  against  them.  It  was  a  great  fight,  they  say,  and  the 
worB  en  helped  —  not  with  pikes  and  guns,  but  in  this  way : 
they  put  on  white  shirts,  and  came  out  of  the  woods,  above 
where  the  fighting  was  going  on.  Now,  when  the  Austrians 
and  the  Abbot's  people  saw  them,  they  thought  there  were 
spirits  helping  the  Appenzellers  (the  women  were  all  white, 
you  see,  and  too  far  off  to  show  plainly),  and  so  they  gave 
up  the  fight  after  losing  nine  hundred  knights  and  troopers. 
After  that,  it  was  ordered  that  the  women  should  go  first 
to  the  sacrament,  so  that  no  man  might  forget  the  help  they 
gave  in  that  battle.  And  the  people  go  every  year  to  the 
chapel,  on  the  same  day  when  it  took  place." 

I  looked,  involuntarily,  to  find  some  difference  in  the  pop- 
ulation after  passing  the  frontier.  But  I  had  not  counted 
upon  the  leveling  influence  which  the  same  kind  of  labor 
exercises,  whether  upon  mountain  or  in  valley.  So  long 
as  Appenzell  was  a  land  of  herdsmen,  many  peculiarities 
of  costume,  features,  and  manners  must  have  remained. 
For  a  long  time,  however,  Outer-Rhoden,  as  this  part  of 
the  Canton  is  called,  has  shared  with  that  part  of  St.  Gall 
which  lies  below  it  the  manufacture  of  fine  muslins  and 
embroideries.  There  are  looms  in  almost  every  house,  and 
'this  fact  explains  the  density  of  population  and  the  signs 
of  wealth  on  every  hand,  which  would  otherwise  puzzle 
the  stranger.  The  houses  are  not  only  so  near  together 
that  almost  every  man  can  call  to  his  neighbors  and  be 
heard,  but  they  are  large,  stately,  and  even  luxurious,  in 
contrast  to  the  dwellings  of  other  country  people  in  Eu- 
rope. The  average  population  of  Outer-Rhoden  amounts 
ta  four  hundred  and  seventy-five  persons  to  the  square 
mile,  being  nearly  double  that  of  the  most  thickly  settled 
portions  of  Holland. 

If  one  could  only  transport  a  few  of  these  houses  to  the 
United  States !  Our  country  architecture  is  not  only  hid 
eous,  but  frequently  unpractical,  being  at  worst  shanties, 
and  at  best  city  residences  set  in  the  fields.     An  Appenzell 


120  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

fermer  lives  in  a  house  from  forty  to  sixty  feet  square,  and 
rarely  less  than  four  stories  in  height  The  two  upper  sto- 
ries, however,  are  narrowed  by  the  high,  steep  roof,  so  thai 
the  true  front  of  the  house  ie  one  of  the  gables.  The  roof 
projects  at  least  four  feet  on  all  sides,  giving  shelter  to  bal- 
conies of  carved  wood,  which  cross  the  front  under  each 
row  of  windows.  The  outer  walls  are  covered  with  upright, 
overlapping  shingles,  not  more  than  two  or  three  inches 
broad,  and  rounded  at  the  ends,  suggesting  the  scale  armor 
of  ancient  times.  This  covering  secures  the  greatest  warmth ; 
and  when  the  shingles  have  aquired  from  age  that  rich 
burnt-sienna  tint  which  no  paint  could  exactly  imitate,  the 
effect  is  exceedingly  beautiful.  The  lowest  story  is  gen- 
erally of  stone,  plastered  and  whitewashed.  The  stories  are 
low  (seven  to  eight  feet),  but  the  windows  are  placed  side 
by  side,  and  each  room  is  thoroughly  lighted.  Such  a 
house  is  very  warm,  very  durable,  and,  without  any  appa- 
rent expenditure  of  ornament,  is  externally  so  picturesque 
that  no  ornament  could  improve  it. 

Many  of  the  dwellings,  I  was  told,  could  not  be  built 
with  the  present  means  of  the  population,  at  the  present 
prices  of  labor  and  material.  They  date  from  the  palmy 
days  of  Appenzell  industry,  before  machinery  had  reduced 
the  cost  of  the  finer  fabrics.  Then,  one  successful  manu- 
facturer competed  with  another  in  the  erection  of  showy 
houses,  and  fifty  thousand  francs  (a  large  sum  for  the 
times)  were  frequently  expended  on  a  single  dwelling. 
The  view  of  a  broad  Alpine  landscape,  dotted  all  over 
with  such  beautiful  homes,  from  the  little  shelf  of  green 
hanging  on  the  sides  of  a  rocky  gorge  and  the  strips  of 
stmny  pasture  between  the  ascending  forests,  to  the  very 
summits  of  the  lower  heights  and  the  saddles  between 
them,  was  something  quite  new  in  my  experience. 

Turning  around  the  point  of  Voglisegg,  we  made  for 
Trogen,  one  of  the  two  capitals  of  Outer-Hhoden,  which 
tay  before  us,  across  the  head  of  the  deep  and  wild  St 


THE   LITTLE   LAND    OF   APPENZELL.  121 

Martin's  Tobel.  {Tobel  is  an  Appenzell  word,  correspond- 
ing precisely  to  the  gulch  of  California.)  My  postilion 
mounted,  and  the  breathed  horse  trotted  merrily  along  the 
winding  level.  One  stately  house  after  another,  with  a 
clump  of  fruit-trees  on  the  sheltered  side,  and  a  row  of 
blooming  hyacinths  and  wall-flowers  on  the  balcony,  passed 
by  on  either  side.  The  people  we  met  were  sunburnt  and 
ugly,  but  there  was  a  rough  air  of  self-reliance  about  them, 
and  they  gave  nie  a  hearty  "  God  greet  you ! "  one  and  all. 
Just  before  reaching  Trogen,  the  postilion  pointed  to  an 
old,  black,  tottering  platform  of  masonry,  rising  out  of  a 
green  slope  of  turf  on  the  right.  The  grass  around  it 
seemed  ranker  than  elsewhere. 

This  was  the  place  of  execution,  where  capital  criminals 
are  still  beheaded  with  the  sword,  in  the  sight  of  the  people. 
The  postilion  gave  me  an  account,  with  all  the  horrible  de- 
tails, of  the  last  execution,  only  three  years  ago,  —  how  the 
murderer  would  not  confess  until  he  was  brought  out  of 
prison  to  hear  the  bells  tolling  for  his  victim's  funeral, — 
how  thereupon  he  was  sentenced,  and  —  but  I  will  not  re- 
late further,  I  have  always  considered  the  death  penalty 
a  matter  of  policy  rather  than  principle ;  but  the  sight  of 
that  blood-stained  platform,  the  blood-fed  weeds  around  it, 
and  the  vision  of  the  headsman,  in  his  red  mantle,  looking 
down  upon  the  bared  neck  stretched  upon  the  block,  gave 
me  more  horror  of  the  custom  than  all  the  books  and 
speeches  which  have  been  said  and  written  against  it. 

At  Trogen  I  stopped  at  the  principal  inn,  two  centuries 
old,  the  quaint  front  painted  in  fresco,  the  interior  neat  and 
fresh  as  a  new  toy  —  a  very  gem  of  a  house !  The  floor 
;;pon  which  I  entered  from  the  street  was  paved  with  flat 
stones.  A  solid  wooden  staircase,  dark  with  age,  led  to  the 
guests'  room  in  the  second  story.  One  side  of  this  room 
was  given  up  to  the  windows,  and  there  was  a  charming 
hexagonal  oriel  in  the  corner.  The  low  ceiling  was  of 
*ood,  in  panels  the  stove  a  massive  tower,  faced  with  por- 


122  BY-WAYS   OP   EUROPE. 

celain  tiles,  the  floor  polished  nearly  into  whiteness,  and  all 
the  doors,  cup-boards,  and  tables,  made  of  brown  nut-wood, 
gave  an  air  of  warmth  and  elegance  to  the  apartment.  All 
other  parts  of  the  house  were  equ£tlly  neat  and  orderly. 
The  hostess  greeted  me  with,  "  Be  you  welcome ! "  and  set 
about  preparing  dinner,  as  it  was  now  nearly  noon.  In  the 
pauses  of  her  work  she  came  into  the  room  to  talk,  and 
was  very  ready  to  give  information  concerning  the  country 
and  people. 

There  were  already  a  little  table  and  three  plates  in  the 
oriel,  and  while  I  was  occupied  with  my  own  dinner  I  did 
not  particularly  notice  the  three  persons  who  sat  down  to 
theirs.  The  coarseness  and  harshness  of  their  dialect, 
however,  presently  struck  my  ear.  It  was  pure  Appenzell, 
a  German  made  up  of  singular  and  puzzling  elisions,  and 
with  a  very  strong  guttural  h  and  g,  in  addition  to  the  ch. 
Some  knowledge  of  the  Aleniannic  dialect  of  the  Black 
Forest  enabled  me  to  understand  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, which,  to  my  surprise,  was  —  the  study  of  the  classics  ! 
It  was  like  hearing  an  Irishman  talk  of  Shelley's  "  Witch 
of  Atlas  "  in  the  broadest  Tipperary  brogue.  I  turned  and 
looked  at  the  persons.  They  were  well  dressed  young  men, 
evidently  the  best  class  of  Appenzellers  —  possibly  tutors 
in  the  schools  of  Trogen.  Their  speech  in  no  wise  differed 
from  that  of  the  common  herdsmen,  except  that  they  were 
now  and  then  obliged  to  use  words  which,  being  unknown 
to  the  people,  had  escaped  nuitilation.  I  entered  into  con- 
versation, to  ascertain  whether  true  German  was  not  pos- 
sible to  them,  since  they  must  needs  read  and  write  the 
language  ;  but,  although  they  understood  me,  they  could 
only  partly,  and  with  evident  difficulty,  lay  aside  their  own 
patois.  I  found  this  to  be  the  case  everywhere  throughout 
the  Canton.  It  is  a  circumstance  so  unusual,  that,  in  spite 
of  iiiyself,  associating  a  rude  dialect  with  ignorance,  I  was 
always  astonished  when  those  who  spoke  it  showed  culture 
and  knowledge  of  the  world. 


THE   LITTLE   LAND   OF  APPENZELL.  128 

The  hostess  provided  me  with  a  guide  and  pack-bearer 
and  I  set  out  on  foot  across  the  country  towards  ITundwyl 
This  guide,  Jakob  by  name,  made  me  imagine  that  I  had 
come  among  a  singular  people.  He  was  so  short  that  he 
could  easily  walk  under  my  arm  ;  his  gait  was  something 
between  a  roll  and  a  limp,  although  he  stoutly  disclaimed 
lameness  ;  he  laughed  whenever  I  spoke  to  him,  and  an- 
swered in  a  voice  which  seemed  the  cuneiform  character 
put  into  sound.  First,  there  was  an  explosion  of  gutturals, 
and  then  came  a  loud  trumpet-tone,  something  like  the 
Honk  !  honk  !  of  wild  geese.  Yet,  when  he  placed  his  squat 
figure  behind  a  tavern  table,  and  looked  at  me  quietly  with 
his  mouth  shut,  he  was  both  handsome  and  distinguished 
in  appearance.  We  walked  two  miles  together  before  I 
guessed  how  to  unravel  his  speech.  It  is  almost  as  difficult 
to  learn  a  dialect  as  a  new  language,  and  but  for  the  key 
which  the  Alemannic  gave  me,  I  should  have  been  utterly 
at  sea.  Who,  for  instance,  could  ever  guess  that  cCMd  g'si^ 
pronounced  "  amaxi "  (the  x  representing  a  desperate  gut- 
tural), really  stands  for  einen  Mann  gewesen  f 

The  road  was  lively  with  country  people,  many  of  whom 
were  travelling  in  our  own  direction.  Those  we  met  in- 
variably addressed  us  with  "God  greet  you  ]"  or  "  Guat 
ti !  "  which  it  was  easy  to  translate  into  "  Good-day  !  " 
Some  of  the  men  were  brilliant  in  scarlet  jackets,  with 
double  rows  of  square  silver  buttons,  and  carried  swords 
under  their  arms  ;  they  were  bound  for  the  Landsgemeinde, 
whither  the  law  of  the  Middle  Ages  still  obliges  them  to 
go  armed.  When  I  asked  Jakob  if  he  would  accompany 
me  as  far  as  Hundwyl,  he  answered,  "  I  can't ;  I  daren't 
go  there  without  a  black  dress,  and  my  sword,  and  a  cylin- 
der hat." 

The  wild  Tobels,  opening  downward  to  the  Lake  of  Con- 
stance, which  now  shimmered  afar  through  the  gaps,  were 
left  behind  us,  and  we  passed  westward  along  a  broken, 
irregular  valley.     The  vivid  turf  was  sown  with  all  the 


124  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

flowers  of  spring,  —  primrose,  violet,  buttercup,  anemone 
and  veronica,  —  faint,  but  sweetest-odored,  and  the  heralds 
of  spring  in  all  lands.  So  I  gave  little  heed  to  the  weird 
lines  of  cloud,  twisting  through  and  between  the  severed 
pyramids  of  the  Sentis,  as  if  weaving  the  woof  of  storms. 
The  scenery  was  entirely  lovely,  and  so  novel  in  its  popu- 
lation and  the  labor  which,  in  the  long  course  of  time,  had 
effaced  its  own  hard  traces,  turning  the  mountains  into 
lifted  lawns  and  parks  of  human  delight,  that  my  own  slow 
feet  carried  me  through  it  too  rapidly.  We  must  havo 
passed  a  slight  water-shed  somewhere,  though  I  observed 
none  ;  for  the  road  gradually  fell  towards  another  region 
of  deeply  cloven  Tobels,  with  snowy  mount'iins  beyond. 
The  green  of  the  landscape  was  so  brilliant  and  uniform, 
under  the  cold  gray  sky,  that  it  almost  destroyed  the  per- 
spective, which  rather  depended  on  the  houses  and  the 
scattered  woods  of  fir. 

On  a  ridge,  overlooking  all  this  region,  was  the  large 
village  of  Teufen,  nearly  as  grand  as  Trogen  in  its  archi- 
tecture. Here  Jakob,  whose  service  went  no  further,  con- 
ducted me  to  the  "  Pike  "  inn,  and  begged  the  landlady  to 
furnish  me  with  "  a'  Ma!  "  in  his  place.  We  had  refresh- 
ments together,  and  took  leave  with  many  shakings  of  the 
hand  and  mutual  wishes  of  good  luck.  The  successor  was 
an  old  fellow  of  seventy,  who  had  been  a  soldier  in  Hol- 
land, and  who  with  proper  exertion  could  make  his  speech 
intelligible.  The  people  nowhere  inquired  after  my  busi- 
ness or  nationality.  When  the  guide  made  the  latter 
known,  they  almost  invariably  said,  "  But,  of  course,  you 
were  born  in  Appenzell  ?  "  The  idea  of  a  traveller  coming 
among  them,  at  least  during  this  season  of  the  year,  did 
not  enter  their  heads.  In  Teufen,  the  large  and  hand- 
some houses,  the  church  and  schools,  led  me,  foolishly,  to 
hope  for  a  less  barbarous  dialect ;  but  no,  it  was  the  same 
thing  everywhere. 

The  men  in  black,  with  swords  under  their  arms,   in* 


THE   LITTLE  LAND   OF   APPENZELL.  126 

creased  in  number  as  we  left  the  village.  They  were  prob- 
ably from  the  furthest  parts  of  the  Canton,  and  were  thus 
abridging  the  morrow's  journey.  The  most  of  them,  how- 
ever turned  aside  from  the  road,  and  made  their  way  to 
one  farm-house  or  another.  I  was  tempted  to  follow  their 
example,  as  I  feared  that  the  little  village  of  Hundwyl 
would  be  crowded.  But  there  was  still  time  to  claim  pri- 
vate hospitality,  even  if  this  should  be  the  case,  so  we 
marched  steadily  down  the  valley.  The  Sitter,  a  stream 
fed  by  the  Sentis,  now  roared  below  us,  between  high, 
rocky  walls,  which  are  spanned  by  an  iron  bridge,  two 
h;mdred  feet  above  the  water.  The  roads  of  Outer- 
Khoden,  built  and  kept  in  order  by  the  people,  are  most 
admirable.  This  little  population  of  forty-eight  thousand 
souls  has  within  the  last  fifteen  years  expended  seven  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  on  means  of  communication.  Since 
the  people  govern  themselves,  and  regulate  their  expenses, 
and  consequently  their  taxation,  their  willingness  to  bear 
such  a  burden  is  a  lesson  to  other  lands. 

After  crossing  the  airy  bridge,  our  road  climbed  along 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Tohel,  to  a  village  on  a  ridge  thrust 
out  from  the  foot  of  the  Hundwyl  Alp,  beyond  which  we 
lost  sight  of  Teufen  and  the  beautiful  valley  of  the  Sitter. 
We  were  now  in  the  valley  of  the  Urnasch,  and  a  walk  of 
two  miles  more  brought  us  to  the  village  of  Hundwyl.  I  was 
encouraged,  on  approaching  the  little  place,  by  seeing  none 
except  the  usual  signs  of  occupation.  There  was  a  great 
new  tank  before  the  fountain,  and  two  or  three  fellows  in 
scarlet  vests  were  filling  their  portable  tubs  for  the  even- 
ing's supply  ;  a  few  children  came  to  the  doors  to  stare  at 
me,  but  there  was  no  sign  that  any  other  stranger  had 
arrived. 

"  ril  take  you  to  the  Crown,"  said  the  guide ;  "  all  the 
Landamanner  will  be  there  in  the  morning,  and  the  music; 
and  you'll  see  what  our  Appenzell  government  is."  Thf? 
landlady  gave  me  a  welcome,  and  the  promise  of  a  lodging 


126  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

whereupon  I  sat  clown  in  peace,  received  the  greetings  of 
all  the  members  of  the  family,  as  they  came  and  went,  and 
made  myself  familiar  with  their  habits.  There  was  only 
oae  other  guest  in  the  house,  —  a  man  of  dignified  face 
and  intellectual  head,  who  carried  a  sword  tied  up  with  an 
umbrella,  and  must  be,  I  supposed,  one  of  the  chief  offi- 
cials. He  had  so  much  the  air  of  a  reformer  or  a  philoso- 
pher that  the  members  of  a  certain  small  faction  at  home 
might  have  taken  him  for  their  beloved  W.  P. ;  others 
might  have  detected  in  him  a  resemblance  to  that  true 
philanthropist  and  gentleman  W.  L.  G. ;  and  the  believers 
in   the   divinity  of  slavery  would  have  accepted   him   as 

Bishop .     As  no  introductions  are  required  in  Ap- 

penzell,  I  addressed  myself  to  him,  hoping  to  open  a  prof- 
itable acquaintance ;  but  it  was  worse  than  Coleridge's  ex- 
perience with  the  lover  of  dumplings.  His  sentiments 
may  have  been  elevated  and  refined,  for  aught  I  knew,  but 
what  were  they?  My  trumpeter  Jakob  was  more  intel- 
ligible than  he ;  his  upper  teeth  were  gone,  and  the  muti- 
lated words  were  mashed  out  of  all  remaining  shape  against 
his  gums.  Then  he  had  the  singular  habit  of  ejaculating 
the  word  Ja!  (Yes!)  in  three  different  ways,  after  answer- 
ing each  of  my  questions.  First,  a  decided,  confirmatory 
Ja  !  then  a  pause,  followed  by  a  slow,  interrogative  Ja  ?  as 
if  it  were  the  echo  of  some  mental  doubt ;  and  finally,  after 
a  much  longer  pause,  a  profoundly  melancholy,  despond- 
ing, conclusive  Ja-a-a  !  sighed  forth  from  the  very  bottom 
of  his  lungs.  Even  when  I  only  said,  "  Good-morning!'' 
the  next  day,  these  ejaculations  followed,  in  the  same  order 
tf  succession. 

One  may  find  a  counterpart  to  this  habit  in  the  WcCal 
of  the  Yankee,  except  that  the  latter  never  is,  nor  could  it 
well  be,  so  depressing  to  hear  as  the  Ja  of  Appenzell. 

In  the  evening  a  dozen  persons  gathered  aiound  one  of 
the  long  tables,  and  drank  a  pale,  weak  cider,  made  of  ap* 
pies  and  pears,  and  called  "  Most."     I  gave  to  one,  witk 


THE    LITTLE   LAND    OF   APPENZELL.  121 

wbom  I  found  I  could  converse  most  easily,  a  glass  of  red 
wine,  whereupon  he  said,  "  It  is  very  impudent  in  me  to 
take  it." 

Upon  asking  the  same  person  how  it  was  that  I  could 
understand  him  so  much  more  readily  than  the  others,  he 
answered,  "  0,  I  can  talk  the  written  language  when  I  try, 
but  these  others  can't." 

'*  Here,"  said  I,  pointing  to  the  philosopher,  "  is  one  who 
is  quite  incomprehensible." 

"  So  he  is  to  me." 

They  were  all  anxious  to  know  whether  our  American 
troubles  were  nearly  over ;  whether  the  President  had  the 
power  to  do  further  harm  (he  had  too  much  power,  they 
all  thought)  ;  and  whether  our  Congress  could  carry  out 
its  plan  of  reconstruction.  Lincoln  they  said,  was  the  best 
man  we  ever  had;  when  the  play  of  "  Lhicoln's  Death" 
was  performed  in  the  theatre  at  St.  Gall,  a  great  many 
Appenzellers  hired  omnibuses  and  went  down  from  the 
mountains  to  see  it. 

I  was  aroused  at  daybreak  by  the  chiming  of  bells,  and 
soon  afterwards  muskets  began  to  crack,  near  and  far. 
Then  there  were  noises  all  over  the  house,  and  presently 
what  seemed  to  be  a  procession  of  horses  or  elephants  be- 
gan to  thunder  up  and  down  the  wooden  stairs.  In  vain  I 
tried  to  snatch  the  last  and  best  morning  nap ;  there  was 
no  end  to  the  racket.  So  I  arose,  dressed,  and  went  forth 
to  observe.  The  inn  was  already  transformed,  from  top  to 
bottom,  into  a  vast  booth  for  meat  and  drink.  Bedding 
and  all  other  furniture  had  disappeared  ;  every  room,  and 
even  the  open  hall  on  each  story,  was  filled  with  tables, 
benches,  and  chairs.  My  friend  of  the  previous  evening, 
who  was  going  about  with  a  white  apron  on  and  sleeves 
rolled  up,  said  to  me :  "  I  am  to  be  one  of  the  waiters  to- 
day.    We  have  already  made  places  for  six  hundred." 

There  were  at  least  a  dozen  other  amateur  waiters  on 
hand  and  busy.     The  landlord  wore  a  leathern  aprcn,  and 


128  BY-WAYS   OF   EUBOPE. 

went  from  room  to  room,  blowing  into  the  hole  of  a  wooden 
tap  which  he  carried  in  his  hand,  as  if  thereby  to  collect 
his  ideas.  A  barrel  of  red  and  a  barrel  of  white  wine 
stood  on  trestles  in  the  guests'  room,  and  they  were  already 
filling  the  schoppins  by  hundreds  and  ranging  them  on 
shelves,  —  honestly  filling,  not  as  lager-bier  is  filled  in  New 
York,  one  third  foam,  but  waiting  until  the  froth  subsided, 
and  then  pouring  to  tlie  very  brim.  In  the  kitchen  there 
were  three  fires  blazing,  slacks  of  Bratwurst  on  the  tables, 
great  kettles  for  the  sour-krout  and  potatoes ;  and  eggs,  let- 
tuce, and  other  finer  viands,  for  the  dignitaries,  on  the 
shelves.  "  Good  morning,"  said  the  landlady,  as  I  looked 
into  this  sanctuary,  "you  see  we  are  ready  for  them." 

While  I  was  taking  my  coffee,  the  landlord  called  the 
waiters  together,  gave  each  a  bag  of  small  money  for 
change,  and  then  delivered  a  short,  practical  address  con- 
cerning their  duties  for  the  day,  —  who  were  to  be  trusted 
and  who  not,  how  to  keep  order  and  prevent  impatience, 
and,  above  all,  how  to  preserve  a  proper  circulation,  in  or- 
der that  the  greatest  possible  number  of  persons  might  be 
entertained.  He  closed  with  :  "  Once  again,  take  notice 
and  don't  forget,  every  one  of  you, —  Most  10  rappen  (2 
cents),  bread  10,  Wurst  15,  tongue  10,  wine  25  and  40,"  etc. 

In  the  village  there  fvere  signs  of  preparation,  but  not  a 
dozen  strangers  had  arrived.  Wooden  booths  had  been 
built  against  some  of  the  houses,  and  the  owners  thereof^ 
were  arranging  their  stores  of  gingerbread  and  coarse  con- 
fectionery ;  on  the  open,  grassy  square,  in  front  of  the  par- 
sonage, stood  a  large  platform,  with  a  handsome  railing 
around  it,  but  the  green  slope  of  the  hill  in  front  was  as 
deserted  as  an  Alpine  pasture.  Looking  westward  over 
the  valley,  however,  I  could  already  see  dark  figures  mov- 
ing along  the  distant  paths.  The  morning  was  overcast, 
but  the  Hundwyl  Alp,  streaked  with  snow,  stood  clear,  and 
there  was  a  prospect  of  good  weather  for  the  important 
day.     As  I   loitered  about  the    village,  talking  with  th* 


THE    LITTLE    LAND    OF   APPENZELL.  12P 

people,  who,  busy  as  they  were,  always  found  time  for  a 
friendly  word,  the  movement  in  the  landscape  increased 
Out  of  firwoods,  and  over  the  ridges  and  out  of  the  fold- 
ings of  the  hills,  came  the  Appenzellers,  growing  int€ 
groups,  and  then  into  lines,  until  steady  processions  began 
to  enter  Hundwyl  by  every  road.  Every  man  was  dressed 
in  black,  with  a  rusty  stove-pipe  hat  on  his  head,  and  a 
sword  and  umbrella  in  his  hand  or  under  his  arm. 

From  time  to  time  the  church  bells  chimed  ;  a  brass 
band  played  the  old  melodies  of  the  Canton  ;  on  each  side 
of  the  governing  Landamman's  place  on  the  platform  stood 
a  huge  two-handed  sword,  centuries  old,  and  the  temper  of 
the  gathering  crowd  became  earnest  and  solemn.  Six  old 
men,  armed  with  pikes,  walked  about  with  an  air  of  im- 
portance .•'  their  duty  was  to  preserve  order,  but  they  had 
nothing  to  do.  Policeman  other  than  these,  or  soldier,  was 
not  to  be  seen  ;  each  man  was  a  part  of  the  government, 
and  felt  his  responsibility.  Carriages,  light  carts,  and  hay 
wagons,  the  latter  filled  with  patriotic  singers,  now  began 
to  arrive,  and  I  took  my  way  to  the  "  Crown,"  in  order  to 
witness  the  arrival  of  the  members  of  the  Council. 

In  order  to  make  the  proceedings  of  the  day  more  intel- 
ligible, I  must  first  briefly  sketch  certain  features  of  this 
little  democracy,  which  it  possesses  in  common  with  three 
other  mountain  cantons  — •  the  primitive  forms  which  the 
republican  principle  assumed  in  Switzerland.  In  the  first 
place  the  government  is  only  representative  so  far  as  is  re- 
quired for  its  permanent,  practical  operation.  The  highest 
power  in  the  land  is  the  Landsgemeinde.  or  General  Assem- 
bly of  the  People,  by  whom  the  members  of  the  Executive 
Council  are  elected,  and  who  alone  can  change,  adopt,  or 
abolish  any  law.  All  citizens  above  the  age  of  eighteen, 
and  all  other  Swiss  citizens  after  a  ye.ir's  residence  in  the 
Canton,  are  not  only  allowed,  but  required,  to  attend  the 
Ijandsgemeinde.  There  is  a  penalty  for  non-attendance. 
Outer- Rhoden  contains   forty-eight   thousand   inhabitants, 


130  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

of  whom  eleven  thousand  are  under  obligations  to  be  pre» 
ent  and  vote,  from  beginning  to  end  of  the  deliberations. 

In  Glarus  and  Unterwalden,  where  the  population  ifl 
smaller,  the  right  of  discussion  is  still  retained  by  these 
assemblies,  but  in  Appenzell  it  has  been  found  expedieu 
to  abolish  it.  Any  change  in  the  law,  however,  is  first 
discussed  in  public  meetings  in  the  several  communities, 
then  put  into  form  by  the  Council,  published,  read  from  all 
the  pulpits  for  a  month  previous  to  the  coming  together 
of  the  Landsgemeinde,  and  then  voted  upon.  But  if  the 
Council  refuses  to  act  upon  the  suggestion  of  any  citizen 
whomsoever,  and  he  honestly  considers  the  matter  one  of 
importance,  he  is  allowed  to  propose  it  directly  to  the  peo- 
ple, provided  he  do  so  briefly  and  in  an  orderly  manner. 
The  Council,  which  may  be  called  the  executive  power, 
consists  of  the  governing  Landamman  and  six  associates, 
one  of  whom  has  the  functions  of  treasurer,  another  of 
military  commander,  —  in  fact,  a  ministry  on  a  small  scale* 
The  service  of  the  persons  elected  to  the  Council  is  obli- 
gatory, and  they  receive  no  salaries.  There  is,  it  is  true,  a 
secondary  Council,  composed  of  the  first,  and  representa- 
tives of  the  communities,  one  for  every  thousand  inhabit- 
ants, in  order  to  administer  more  intelligently  the  various 
departments  of  education,  religion,  justice,  roads,  the  mili- 
tia system,  the  poor,  etc. ;  but  the  Assembly  of  the  People 
can  at  any  time  reject  or  reverse  its  action.  All  citizens 
are  not  only  equal  before  the  law,  but  are  assured  liberty 
of  conscience,  of  speech,  and  of  labor.  The  right  of  sup- 
port only  belongs  to  those  who  are  born  citizens  of  the 
Canton.  The  old  restriction  of  the  Heimathsrecht,  —  the 
claim  to  be  supported  at  the  expense  of  the  community  in 
case  of  need,  —  narrow  and  illiberal  as  it  seems  to  us,  pre- 
vails all  over  Switzerland.  In  Appenzell  a  stranger  can 
only  acquire  the  right,  which  is  really  the  right  of  citizen- 
ship, by  paying  twelve  hundred  francs  into  the  cantonal 
treasury. 


THE    LITTLE    LAND    OF    APPENZKLI..  131 

The  governing  Landamman  is  elected  for  two  years,  but 
Uie  other  members  of  the  Council  may  be  reelected  from 
year  to  year,  as  often  as  the  people  see  fit  The  obligation 
to  serve,  therefore,  may  sometimes  seriously  incommode 
the  person  chosen  ;  he  cannot  resign,  and  his  only  chance 
of  escape  lies  in  leaving  the  Canton  temporarily,  and  pub- 
lishing his  intention  of  quitting  it  altogether  in  case  the 
people  refuse  to  release  him  from  office !  This  year,  it 
happened  that  two  members  of  the  Council  had  already 
taken  this  step,  while  three  others  had  appealed  to  the 
people  not  to  reelect  them.  The  Landsgemeinde  at  Hun- 
dwyl  was  to  decide  upon  all  these  applications,  and  there- 
fore promised  to  be  of  more  than  usual  interest  The 
people  had  had  time  to  consider  the  matter,  and  it  was  supn 
posed  had  generally  made  up  their  minds ;  yet  I  found  no 
one  willing  to  give  me  a  hint  of  their  action  in  advance. 

The  two  remaining  members  presently  made  their  ap- 
pearance, accompanied  by  the  Chancellor,  to  whom  I  was 
recommended.  The  latter  kindly  offered  to  accompany  me 
to  the  parsonage,  the  windows  of  which,  directly  in  the 
rear  of  the  platform,  would  enable  me  to  hear,  as  well  aj: 
see  the  proceedings.  The  clergyman,  who  was  preparing 
for  the  service  which  precedes  the  opening  of  the  Lands' 
gemeinde,  showed  me  the  nail  upon  which  hung  the  key  of 
the  study,  and  gave  me  liberty  to  take  possession  at  any 
time.  The  clock  now  struck  nine,  and  a  solemn  peal  of 
bells  announced  the  time  of  service.  A  little  procession 
formed  in  front  of  the  inn ;  first  the  music,  then  the  cler- 
gyman and  the  few  members  of  the  government,  bare- 
headed, and  followed  by  the  two  Weibeh  (apparitors),  who 
wore  long  mantles,  the  right  half  white  and  the  left  half 
black.  The  old  pikemen  walked  on  either  side.  The 
people  uncovered  as  the  dignitaries  took  their  way  around 
the  church  to  the  chancel  door ;  then  as  many  as  could  be 
accommodated  entered  at  the  front. 

I  entered  with  them,  taking  my  place  on  the  men's  side 


182  BY-WAYS    "F  EUROPE. 

—  the  sexes  being  divided,  as  is  usual  in  Germany.  AOe 
the  hymn,  in  which  boy's  voices  were  charmingly  heard 
and  the  prayer,  the  clergyman  took  a  text  from  Corin- 
thians, and  proceeded  to  preach  a  good,  sound  political 
sermon,  which,  nevertheless,  did  not  in  the  least  shock  the 
honest  piety  of  his  hearers,  I  noticed  with  surprise  that 
most  of  the  men  put  on  their  hats  at  the  close  of  the 
prayer.  Only  once  did  they  remove  them  afterwards,  — 
when  the  clergyman,  after  describing  the  duties  before 
them,  and  the  evils  and  difficulties  which  beset  every  good 
work,  suddenly  said,  "  Let  us  pray  to  God  to  help  and 
direct  us !  "  and  interpolated  a  short  prayer  in  the  midst 
of  his  sermon.  The  effect  was  all  the  more  impressive, 
because,  though  so  unexpected,  it  was  entirely  simple  ana 
natural.  These  democrats  of  Appenzell  have  not  yet  made 
the  American  discovery  that  pulpits  are  profaned  by  any 
utterance  of  national  sentiment,  or  any  application  of  Chris- 
tian doctrine  to  politics.  They  even  hold  their  municipal 
elections  in  the  churches,  and  consider  that  the  act  of 
voting  is  thereby  solemnized,  not  that  the  holy  building  is 
desecrated  !  But  then,  you  will  say,  this  is  the  democracy 
of  the  Middle  Ages. 

When  the  service  was  over,  I  could  scarcely  make  my 
way  through  the  throilg  which  had  meanwhile  collected. 
The  sun  had  come  out  hot  above  the  Hundwyl  Alp,  and 
turned  the  sides  of  the  valley  into  slopes  of  dazzling  sheen. 
Already  every  table  in  the  inns  was  filled,  every  window 
crowded  with  heads,  the  square  a  dark  mass  of  voters  of 
all  ages  and  classes,  lawyers  and  clergymen  being  packed 
together  with  grooms  and  brown  Alpine  herdsmen  ;  and, 
after  the  government  had  been  solenmly  escorted  to  its 
private  chamber,  four  musicians  in  antique  costume  an- 
nounced, with  drum  and  fife,  the  speedy  opening  of  the 
Assembly.  But  first  came  the  singing  societies  of  Ileri- 
Ban,  and  forced  their  way  into  the  centre  of  the  throng 
N^here  they  sang,  simply  yet  grandly,  the  songs  of  Appen 


THE   LITTLE   LAND   OF   APPENZELL.  133 

lell.  The  people  listened  with  silent  satisfaction  ;  not  a 
man  seemed  to  think  of  applauding. 

I  took  my  place  in  the  pastor's  study,  and  inspected  the 
crowd.  On  the  steep  slope  of  the  village  square  and  the 
rising  field  beyond,  more  than  ten  thousand  men  were 
gathered,  packed  as  closely  as  they  could  stand.  The  law 
requires  them  to  appear  armed  and  '•  respectably  dressed." 
The  short  swords,  very  much  like  our  marine  cutlasses, 
which  they  carried,  were  intended  for  show  rather  than 
service.  Very  few  wore  them  :  sometimes  they  were  tied 
up  with  umbrellas,  but  generally  carried  loose  in  the  hand 
or  under  the  arm.  The  rich  manufacturers  of  Trogen  and 
Herisau  and  Teufen  had  belts  and  silver-mounted  dress- 
swords.  With  scarce  an  exception,  every  man  was  habited 
in  black,  and  wore  a  stove-pipe  hat,  but  the  latter  was  in 
most  cases  brown  and  battered.  Both  circumstances  were 
thus  explained  to  me  :  as  the  people  vote  with  the  uplifted 
hand,  the  hat  must  be  of  a  dark  color,  as  a  background,  to 
bring  out  the  hands  more  distinctly  ;  then,  since  rain  would 
spoil  a  good  hat  (and  it  rains  much  at  this  season),  they 
generally  take  an  old  one.  I  could  now  understand  the 
advertisements  of  "second  hand  cylinder  hats  for  sale," 
which  I  had  noticed,  the  day  before,  in  the  newspapers  of 
the  Canton.  The  slope  of  the  hill  was  such  that  the  hats 
of  the  lower  ranks  concealed  the  faces  of  those  imme- 
diately behind,  and  the  assembly  was  the  darkest  and  den- 
sest I  ever  beheld.  Here  and  there  the  top  of  a  scarlet 
waistcoat  flashed  out  of  the  cloud  with  astonishing  bril- 
liancy. 

"With  solemn  music,  and  attended  by  the  apparitors,  in 
their  two  colored  mantles,  and  the  ancient  pikemen,  the 
few  officials  ascended  the  platform.  The  chief  of  the  two 
Landanmianner  present  took  his  station  in  front,  between 
the  two-handed  swords,  and  began  to  address  the  assembly. 
Suddenly  a  dark  cloud  seemed  to  roll  away  from  the  faces 
of  the  people  ;  coiiunencing  in  front  of  the  platform,  and 


134  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

spreading  rapidly  to  tlie  edges  of  the  compact  throng,  the 
hats  disappeared,  and  the  ten  thousand  faces,  in  the  full 
light  of  the  sun,  blended  into  a  ruddy  muss.  But  no ;  each 
head  retained  its  separate  character,  and  the  most  surpris- 
ing circumstance  of  the  scene  was  the  distinctness  with 
which  each  human  being  held  fast  to  his  individuality  in 
the  multitude.  Nature  has  drawn  no  object  with  so  firm  a 
hand,  nor  painted  it  with  such  tenacious  clearness  of  color, 
as  the  face  of  man.  The  inverted  crescent  of  sharp  light 
had  a  different  curve  on  each  individual  brow  before  me ; 
the  little  illuminated  dot  on  the  end  of  the  nose  under  it 
hinted  at  the  form  of  the  nostrils  in  shadow.  As  the  hats 
had  before  concealed  the  faces,  so  now  each  face  was  re- 
lieved against  the  breast  of  the  man  beyond,  and  in  front 
of  me  were  thousands  of  heads  to  be  seen,  touching  each 
other  like  so  many  ovals  drawn  on  a  dark  plane. 

The  address  was  neither  so  brief  nor  so  practical  as  it 
might  have  been.  Earnest,  well  meant,  and  apparently 
well  received,  there  was  nevertheless  much  in  it  which  the 
plain,  semi-educated  weavers  and  Alpadores  in  the  assem- 
bly could  not  possibly  have  comprehended ;  as,  for  instance, 
"  May  a  garland  of  confidence  be  twined  around  your  de- 
liberations ! "  At  the  close,  the  speaker  said,  "  Let  us 
pray ! "  and  for  a  few'  moments  there  were  bowed  heads 
and  utter  silence.  The  first  business  was  the  financial 
report  for  the  year,  which  had  been  printed  and  distributed 
among  the  people  weeks  before.  They  were  now  asked 
whether  they  would  appoint  a  commission  to  test  its  accu- 
racy, but  they  unanimously  declined  to  do  so.  The  ques- 
tion was  put  by  one  of  the  apparitors,  who  first  removed 
his  cocked  hat,  and  cried,  in  a  tremendous  voice,  "  Faith- 
ful and  beloved  fellow-citizens,  and  brethren  of  the  Union  ! " 

Now  came  the  question  of  releasing  the  tired  Landam- 
manner  of  the  previous  year  from  oflUce.  The  first  appli- 
cation in  order  was  that  of  the  governi)»g  Landamman, 
Dr.  Ziircher.     The  people  voted  directly  thereupon ;  there 


THE   LITTLE   LAND   OF   APPENZELL.  136 

«ras  a  strong  division  of  sentiment,  but  the  majority  allowed 
him  to  resign.  His  place  was  therefore  to  be  filled  at  once. 
The  names  of  candidates  were  called  out  by  the  crowd. 
There  were  six  in  all ;  and  as  both  the  members  of  the 
Council  were  among  them,  the  latter  summoned  six  well- 
known  citizens  upon  the  platform,  to  decide  the  election. 
The  first  vote  reduced  the  number  of  candidates  to  two. 
and  the  voting  was  then  repeated  until  one  of  these  re- 
ceived an  undoubted  majority.  Dr.  Roth,  of  Teufen,  was  the 
fortunate  man.  As  soon  as  the  decision  was  announced, 
several  swords  were  held  up  in  the  crowd  to  indicate 
where  the  new  governor  was  to  be  found.  The  musicians 
and  pikemen  made  a  lane  to  him  through  the  multitude, 
and  he  was  conducted  to  the  platform  with  the  sound  of 
fife  and  drum.  He  at  once  took  his  place  between  the 
swords,  and  made  a  brief  address,  which  the  people  heard 
with  uncovered  heads.  He  did  not  yet,  however,  assume 
the  black  silk  mantle  which  belongs  to  his  office.  He  was 
a  man  of  good  presence,  prompt,  and  self-possessed  in  man- 
ner, and  conducted  the  business  of  the  day  very  success- 
fully. 

The  election  of  the  remaining  members  occupied  much 
more  time.  All  the  five  applicants  were  released  from 
service,  and  with  scarcely  a  dissenting  hand :  wherein,  I 
thought,  the  people  showed  very  good  sense.  The  case  of 
one  of  these  officials,  Herr  Euler,  was  rather  hard.  He 
was  the  Landessdckelmeister  (Treasurer),  and  the  law  makes 
him  personally  responsible  for  every  farthing  which  passes 
through  his  hands.  Having,  with  the  consent  of  the  Coun- 
cil, invested  thirty  thousand  francs  in  a  banking-house  at 
Rheineck,  the  failure  of  the  house  obliged  him  to  pay  this 
sum  out  of  his  own  pocket.  He  did  so,  and  then  made 
preparations  to  leave  the  Canton  in  case  his  resignatioj 
was  not  accepted. 

For  most  of  the  places  from  ten  to  fourteen  candidates 
were  named,  and  when  these  were  reduced  to  two,  neailjf 


136  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

equally  balanced  in  popular  favor,  the  voting  became  verj 
spirited.  The  apparitor,  who  was  chosen  on  account  of  his 
strength  of  voice  (the  candidates  for  the  office  must  be 
tested  in  this  respect),  had  hard  work  that  day.  The  same 
formula  must  be  repeated  before  every  vote,  in  this  wise : 
"  Herr  Landamnian,  gentlemen,  faithful  and  beloved  fellow- 
citizens  and  brethren  of  the  Union,  if  it  seems  good  to  you 
to  choose  so-and-so,  as  your  treasurer  for  the  coming  year, 
so  lift  up  your  hands!"  Then,  all  over  the  dark  mass, 
thousands  of  hands  flew  into  the  sunshine,  rested  a  mo- 
ment, and  gradually  sank  with  a  fluttering  motion,  which 
made  me  think  of  leaves  flying  from  a  hill-side  forest  in 
the  autunm  winds.  As  each  election  was  decided,  and  the 
choice  was  announced,  swords  were  lifted  to  show  the  loca- 
tion of  the  new  official  in  the  crowd,  and  he  was  then 
brought  upon  the  platform  with  fife  and  drum.  Nearly 
two  hours  elapsed  before  the  gaps  were  filled,  and  the  gov- 
ernment was  again  complete. 

Then  followed  the  election  of  judges  for  the  judicial  dis 
tricts,  who,  in  most  cases,  were  almost  unanimously  re 
elected.  These  are  repeated  from  year  to  year,  so  long  as 
the  people  are  satisfied.  Nearly  all  the  citizens  of  Outer- 
Rhoden  were  before  me  ;  I  could  distinctly  see  three  fourths 
of  their  faces,  and  I  detected  no  expression  except  that  of 
a  grave,  conscientious  interest  in  the  proceedings.  Their 
patience  was  remarkable.  Closely  packed,  man  against 
man,  in  the  hot,  still  sunshine,  they  stood  quietly  for  nearly 
three  hours,  and  voted  upwards  of  two  hundred  and  seven 
times  before  the  business  of  the  day  was  completed.  A 
few  old  men  on  the  edges  of  the  crowd  slipped  away  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  in  order,  as  one  of  them  told  me,  "  to 
keep  their  stomachs  from  giving  way  entirely,"  and  some 
of  the  younger  fellows  took  a  schoppin  of  Most  for  the  same 
purpose ;  but  they  generally  returned  and  resumed  their 
places  as  soon  as  refreshed. 

The  close  of  the  Landsgemeinde  was  one  i>f  the  most  im- 


•  THE   LITTLE   LAND   OF  APPENZELL.  137 

pressive  spectacles  I  ever  witnessed.  When  the  elections 
were  over  and  no  further  duty  remained,  the  Pastor  Ettei 
of  Hundwyl  ascended  the  platform.  The  governing  Land- 
amman  assumed  his  black  mantle  of  office,  and,  after  f 
brief  prayer,  took  the  oath  of  inauguration  from  the  clergy- 
man. He  swore  to  further  the  prosperity  and  honor  of  the 
land,  to  ward  off  misfortune  from  it,  to  uphold  the  Consti- 
tution and  laws,  to  protect  the  widows  and  orphans,  and  to 
secure  the  equal  rights  of  all,  no?  through  favor,  hostility, 
gifts,  or  promises  to  be  turned  aside  from  doing  the  same. 
The  clergyman  repeated  the  oath  sentence  by  sentence, 
both  holding  up  the  oath-fingers  of  the  right  hand,  the 
people  looking  on  silent  and  uncovered. 

The  governing  Landamman  now  turned  to  the  assembly, 
and  read  them  their  oath,  that  they  likewise  should  further 
the  honor  and  prosperity  of  the  land,  preserve  its  freedom 
and  its  equal  rights,  obey  the  laws,  protect  the  Council  and 
the  judges,  take  no  gift  or  favor  from  any  prince  or  poten- 
tate, and  that  each  one  should  accept  and  perform,  to  the 
best  of  his  ability,  any  service  to  which  he  might  be  chosen. 
After  this  had  been  read,  the  Landanunan  lifted  his  right 
hand,  with  the  oath-fingers  extended;  his  colleagues  on 
the  platform,  and  every  men  of  the  ten  or  eleven  thousand 
present  did  the  same.  The  silence  was  so  profound  that 
the  chirp  of  a  bird  on  the  hillside  took  entire  possession 
of  the  air.  Then  the  Landamman  slowly  and  solemnly 
spoke  these  words :  "  I  have  well  understood  that  —  which 
has  been  read  to  me;  —  I  will  always  and  exactly  observe 
it,  —  faithfully  and  without  reservation,  —  so  truly  as  I 
wish  and  pray  —  that  God  help  me ! "  At  each  pause,  the 
same  words  were  repeated  by  every  man,  in  a  low,  subdued 
'xjne  The  hush  was  else  so  complete,  the  words  were 
spoken  with  such  measured  firnmess,  that  I  caught  each  as 
it  came,  not  as  from  the  lips  of  men,  but  from  a  vast  super- 
natural murmur  in  the  air.  The  effect  was  indescribable. 
F'ai  off  on  the  horizon  was  the  white  vision  oi  an  Alp,  but 


138  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

all  the  hidden  majesty  of  those  supreme  mountains  WM 
nothing  to  the  scene  before  me.  When  the  last  words  had 
beer,  spoken,  the  hands  sank  slowly,  and  the  crowd  stood  a 
moment  locked  together,  with  grave  faces  and  gleaming 
eyes,  until  the  spirit  that  had  descended  upon  them  passed. 
Then  they  dissolved ;  the  Landsgemeinde  was  over. 

In  my  inn,  I  should  think  more  than  the  expected  six 
hundred  had  found  place.  From  garret  to  cellar,  every 
corner  was  occupied ;  bread,  wine,  and  steamy  dishes 
passed  in  a  steady  whirl  from  kitchen  and  tap-room  into  all 
the  roaring  chambers.  In  the  other  inns  it  was  the  same, 
and  many  took  their  drink  and  provender  in  the  open  air. 
I  met  my  philosopher  of  the  previous  evening,  who  said, 
"  Now,  what  do  you  think  of  our  Landsgemeinde  f "  and 
followed  my  answer  with  his  three  Jo's,  the  last  a  more 
desponding  sigh  than  ever.  Since  the  business  was  over, 
I  judged  that  the  people  would  be  less  reserved  —  which, 
indeed,  was  the  case.  Nearly  all  with  whom  I  spoke  ex- 
pressed their  satisfaction  with  the  day's  work.  I  walked 
through  the  crowds  in  all  directions,  vainly  seeking  for 
personal  beauty.  There  were  few  women  present,  but  a 
handsome  man  is  only  less  beautiful  than  a  beautiful 
woman,  and  I  like  to  look  at  the  former  when  the  latter  is 
absent.  I  was  surprised  at  the  great  proportion  of  under- 
sized men  ;  only  weaving,  in  close  rooms,  for  several  gen- 
erations, could  have  produced  so  many  squat  bodies  and 
short  legs.  The  Appenzellers  are  neither  a  handsome  nor 
a  picturesque  race,  and  their  language  harmonizes  with 
their  features ;  but  I  learned,  during  that  day  at  Hundwyl, 
to  like  and  to  respect  them. 

Pastor  Etter  insisted  on  my  dining  with  him;  two 
younger  clergymen  were  also  guests,  and  my  friend  the 
Chancellor  Engwiller  came  to  make  further  kind  offers  of 
service.  The  people  of  each  parish,  I  learned,  elect  their 
own  pastor,  and  pay  him  his  salary.  In  municipal  matters 
the  same  democratic   system   prevails  as  in  the  cantonal 


THE    LITTLE  LAND   OF   APPENZELI..  139 

government.  Education  is  well  providea  for,  and  the  mor- 
als of  the  community  are  watched  and  guarded  by  a  com- 
uiittee  consisting  of  the  pastor  and  two  officials  elected  by 
the  people.  Outer-Rhoden  is  almost  exclusively  Protes- 
tant, while  Inner- Rhoden  —  the  mountain  region  around 
the  Sentis  —  is  Catholic.  Although  thus  geographically 
and  politically  connected,  there  was  formerly  little  inter- 
course between  the  inhabitants  of  the  two  parts  of  the 
Canton,  owing  to  their  religious  differences ;  but  now  thej 
come  together  in  a  friendly  way,  and  are  beginning  to  in- 
termarry. 

Afler  dinner,  the  officials  departed  in  carriages,  to  the 
sound  of  trumpets,  and  thousands  of  the  people  followed 
Again  the  roads  and  paths  leading  away  over  the  green 
hills  were  dark  with  lines  of  pedestrians ;  but  a  number  of 
those  whose  homes  lay  nearest  to  Hundwyl  lingered  to 
drink  and  gossip  out  the  day.  A  group  of  herdsmen,  over 
whose  brown  faces  the  high  stove-pipe  hat  looked  doubly 
absurd,  gathered  in  a  ring,  and  while  one  of  them  yodelled 
the  Ram  des  Vaches  of  Appenzell,  the  others  made  an  ac- 
companiment with  their  voices,  imitating  the  sound  of  cow- 
bells. They  were  lusty,  jolly  fellows,  and  their  song-i 
hardly  came  to  an  end.  I  saw  one  man  who  might  be 
considered  as  positively  drunk,  but  no  other  who  was  more 
than  affectionately  and  socially  excited.  Towards  sunset 
they  all  dropped  off,  and  when  the  twilight  settled  down 
heavy,  and  threatening  rain,  there  was  no  stranger  but  my- 
self in  the  little  village.  "  I  have  done  tolerably  well," 
said  the  landlord,  "  but  I  can't  count  my  gains  until  day 
after  to-morrow,  when  the  scores  run  up  to-day  must  be 
paid  off."  Considering  that  in  my  own  bill  lodging  was 
*et  down  at  six,  and  breakfast  at  twelve  cents,  even  the  fif- 
teen hundred  guests  whom  he  entertained  during  the  day 
could  not  have  given  him  a  very  splendid  profit. 

Taking  a  weaver  of  the  place  as  guide,  I  set  off  early 
the  next  morning  for  the  village  of  Appenzell,  the  capital 


140  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

of  Inner-Rhoden,  The  way  led  me  back  into  the  vallej 
of  the  Sitter,  thence  up  towards  the  Sentis  Alp,  winding 
around  and  over  a  multitude  of  hills.  The  same  smooth, 
even,  velvety  carpet  of  grass  was  spread  upon  the  land- 
scape, covering  every  undulation  of  the  syrface,  except 
where  the  rocks  had  frayed  themselves  through.  There  is 
no  greener  land  upon  the  earth.  The  grass,  from  centuries 
of  cultivation,  has  become  so  rich  and  nutritious,  that  the 
inhabitants  can  no  longer  spare  even  a  little  patch  of 
ground  for  a  vegetable  garden,  for  the  reason  that  the 
same  space  produces  more  profit  in  hay.  The  green  comes 
up  to  their  very  doors,  and  they  grudge  even  the  foot-paths 
which  connect  them  with  their  neighbors.  Their  vegeta- 
bles are  brought  up  from  the  lower  valleys  of  Thurgau. 
The  first  mowing  had  commenced  at  the  time  of  my  visit, 
and  the  farmers  were  employing  irrigation  and  manure  to 
bring  on  the  second  crop.  By  this  means  they  are  enabled 
to  mow  the  same  fields  every  five  or  six  weeks.  The  pro- 
cess gives  the  whole  region  a  smoothness,  a  mellow  splen- 
dor of  color,  such  as  I  never  saw  elsewhere,  not  even  in 
England. 

A  walk  of  two  hours  through  such  scenery  brought  me 
out  of  the  Sitter  Tobel,  and  in  sight  of  the  little  Alpine 
basin  in  which  lies  Appenzell.  It  was  raining  slowly  and 
dismally,  and  the  broken,  snow-crowned  peaks  of  the  Ka- 
mor  and  the  Hohe  Kasten  stood  like  livid  spectres  of 
mountains  against  the  stormy  sky.  I  made  haste  to  reach 
the  compact,  picturesque  little  town,  and  shelter  myself  in 
an  inn,  where  a  landlady  with  rippled  golden  hair  and  fea- 
tures like  one  of  Dante  Rossetti's  women,  offered  me  trout 
for  dinner.  Out  of  the  back  window  I  looked  for  the  shat- 
tered summits  of  the  Sentis,  which  rise  five  thousand  feet 
above  the  valley,  but  they  were  invisible.  The  vertical 
walls  of  the  Ebenalp.  in  which  are  the  grotto  and  chapel 
of  Wildkirchli,  towered  over  the  nearer  hills,  and  I  saw 
with  regret  that  they  were  still  above  the  snow  line.     It 


THE    LITTLE    LA.ND    OF    APPENZELL.  141 

iras  impossible  to  penetrate  much  further  vrithout  better 
weather ;  but  I  decided,  while  enjoying  my  trout,  to  mako 
another  trial  —  to  take  the  road  to  Urnasch,  and  thence 
pass  westward  into  the  renowned  valley  of  the  Toggen 
burg. 

The  people  of  Inner-Rhoden  are  the  most  picturesque 
of  the  Appenzellers.  The  men  wear  a  round  skull-cap  of 
leather,  sometimes  brilliantly  embroidered,  a  jacket  of 
coarse  drilling,  drawn  on  over  the  head,  and  occasionally 
knee-breeches.  Early  in  May  the  herdsmen  leave  their 
winter  homes  in  the  valleys  and  go  with  their  cattle  to  the 
Matten,  or  lofty  mountain  pastures.  The  most  intelligent 
cows,  selected  as  leaders  for  the  herd,  march,  in  advance, 
with  enormous  bells,  sometimes  a  foot  in  diameter,  sus- 
pended to  their  necks  by  bands  of  embroidered  leather ; 
then  follow  the  others,  and  the  bull,  who,  singularly  enough 
carries  the  milking-pail  garlanded  with  flowers,  between 
his  horns,  brings  up  the  rear.  The  Alpadores  are  in  their 
finest  Sunday  costume,  and  the  sound  of  yodel-songs  — 
the  very  voice  of  Alpine  landscapes  —  echoes  from  every 
hill.  Such  a  picture  as  this,  under  the  cloudless  blue  of  a 
fortunate  May  day,  makes  the  heart  of  the  Appenzeller 
light.  He  goes  joyously  up  to  his  summer  labor,  and 
makes  his  herb-cheese  on  the  heights,  while  his  wife 
weaves  and  embroiders  muslin  in  the  valley  until  his  re 
turn. 

In  the  afternoon  I  set  out  for  Urnasch,  with  a  bright 
boy  as  guide.  Hot  gleams  of  sunshine  now  and  then 
struck  like  fire  across  the  green  mountains,  and  the  Sentis 
partly  unveiled  his  stubborn  forehead  of  rock.  Behind 
him,  however,  lowered  inky  thunder-clouds,  and  long  before 
the  afternoon's  journey  was  made  it  was  raining  below  and 
snowing  alofu  The  scenery  grew  more  broken  and  abrupt 
the  further  I  penetrated  into  the  country,  but  it  was  every- 
where as  thickly  peopled  and  as  wonderfully  cultivated 
At  Gonteu,  there  is  a  large  building  for  the  whey-cure  of 


142  BY-WAYS   OF   EI  ROPE. 

overfed  people  of  the  world.     A  great   many  such,  I  was 
told,  come  to  Appenzell   for  the  summer.     Many  of  the 
persons  we  met  not  only  said,  "  God  greet  you  !  "  but  im 
mediately  added,  "  Adieu  ! "  —  like  the   Salve  et  vale  I  of 
classical  times. 

Beyond  Gonten  the  road  dropped  into  a  wild  ravine,  the 
continual  windings  of  which  rendered  it  very  attractive.  I 
found  enough  to  admire  in  every  farm-house  by  the  way- 
side, with  its  warm  wood-color,  its  quaint  projecting  bal- 
conies, and  coat  of  shingle  mail.  When  the  ravine  opened, 
and  the  deep  valley  of  Urnasch,  before  me,  appeared  be- 
tween cloven  heights  of  snow,  disclosing  six  or  eight  square 
miles  of  perfect  emerald,  over  which  the  village  is  scat- 
"lered,  I  was  fully  repaid  for  having  pressed  farther  into  the 
heart  of  the  land.  There  were  still  two  hours  until  night, 
and  I  might  have  gone  on  to  the  Rossfall,  —  a  cascade 
three  or  four  miles  higher  up  the  valley,  —  but  the  clouds 
were  threatening,  and  the  distant  mountain-sides  already 
dim  under  the  rain. 

At  the  village  inn  I  found  several  herdsmen  and  mechan- 
ics, each  with  a  bottle  of  Rheinthaler  wine  before  him. 
They  were  ready  and  willing  to  give  me  all  the  information 
I  needed.  In  order  to  reach  the  Toggenburg,  they  said,  I 
must  go  over  the  Kratzernwald.  It  was  sometimes  a  dan- 
gerous journey;  the  snow  was  many  cubits  deep,  and  at 
this  time  of  the  year  it  was  frequently  so  soft,  that  a  man 
would  sink  to  his  hips.  To-day,  however,  there  had  been 
thunder,  and  after  thunder  the  snow  is  always  hard-packed, 
so  that  you  can  walk  on  it ;  but  to  cross  the  Kratzemwald 
without  a  guide,  —  never!  For  two  hours  you  were  in  a 
wild  forest,  not  a  house,  nor  even  a  Sennhiitf  (heidsman's 
cabin)  to  be  seen,  and  no  proper  path,  but  a  clambering 
hither  and  thither,  in  snow  and  mud ;  with  this  weather,  — 
yes,  one  could  get  into  Toggenburg  that  way,  they  said,  but 
not  alone,  and  only  because  there  had  been  .thunder  on  the 
mountains. 


THE   LITTLE  LAND  OP  APPENZELL.  143 

But  all  night  the  rain  beat  against  my  chamber  window, 
and  in  the  morning  the  lower  slopes  on  the  mountains 
were  gray  with  new  snow,  which  no  thunder  had  packed. 
Indigo-colored  clouds  lay  heavily  on  all  the  Alpine  peaks  , 
the  air  was  raw  and  chilly,  and  the  roads  slippery.  In  such 
weather  the  scenery  is  not  only  shrouded,  but  the  people 
are  shut  up  in  their  homes,  —  wherefore  further  trave! 
would  not  have  been  repaid.  I  had  already  seen  the  greater 
part  of  the  little  land,  and  so  gave  up  my  thwarted  plans 
the  more  cheerfully.  When  the  post-omnibus  for  Herisau 
came  to  the  inn  door,  I  took  my  seat  therein,  saying,  like 
Schiller's  "  Sennbub',"  "7Ar  Matten,  leht  woklf  ihr  sonnige 
Weiden  !  " 

The  country  became  softer  and  lovelier  as  the  road  grad- 
ually fell  towards  Herisau,  which  is  the  richest  and  state- 
liest town  of  the  Canton.  I  saw  little  of  it  except  the 
hospitable  home  of  my  friend  the  Chancellor,  for  we  had 
brought  the  Alpine  weather  with  us.  The  architecture  of 
the  place,  nevertheless,  is  charming,  the  town  being  com- 
posed of  country-houses,  balconied  and  shingled,  and  set 
down  together  in  the  most  irregular  way,  every  street  shoot- 
ing off  at  a  different  angle.  A  mile  beyond,  I  reached  the 
edge  of  the  mountain  region,  and  again  looked  down  upon 
the  prosperous  valley  of  St.  Gall.  Below  me  was  the  rail- 
way, and  as  I  sped  towards  Zurich  that  afternoon,  the  top  of 
the  Sentis,  piercing  through  a  mass  of  dark  rain-clouds, 
was  my  last  glimpse  of  the  Little  Land  cf  AppenzelL 


FROM  PERPIGNAN  TO  MONTSERRAT. 


"  Oct  of  France  and  into  Spain,"  says  the  old  nursery 

rhyme ;  but  at  the  eastern  base  of  the  Pyrenees  one  seems 
to  have  entered  Spain  before  leaving  France.  The  rich 
vine-plains  of  Roussillon  once  belonged  to  the  former 
country ;  they  retain  quite  as  distinct  traces  of  the  earlier 
Moorish  occupancy,  and  their  people  speak  a  dialect  almost 
identical  with  that  of  Catalonia.  I  do  not  remember  the 
old  boundaries  of  the  province,  but  I  noticed  the  change 
immediately  after  leaving  Narbonne.  Vine-green,  with  the 
grays  of  olive  and  rock,  were  the  only  colors  of  the  land- 
scape. The  towns,  massive  and  perched  upon  elevations, 
spoke  of  assault  and  defense ;  the  laborers  in  the  fields 
were  brown,  dark-haired,  and  grave,  and  the  semi-African 
silence  of  Spain  seemed  already  to  brood  over  the  land. 

I  entered  Perpignan  under  a  heavy  Moorish  gateway, 
and  made  my  way  to  a  hostel  through  narrow,  tortuous 
streets,  between  houses  with  projecting  balconies,  and  win- 
dows few  and  small,  as  in  the  Orient.  The  hostel,  though 
ambitiously  calling  itself  a  hotel,  was  filled  with  that 
Mediterranean  atmosphere  and  odor  which  you  breathe 
everywhere  in  Italy  and  the  Levant,  —  a  single  charac- 
teristic flavor,  in  which,  nevertheless,  you  fancy  you  detect 
the  exhalations  of  garlic,  oranges,  horses,  cheese,  and  oil. 
A  mild  whiff  of  it  stimulates  the  imagination,  and  is  no 
detriment  to  physical  comfort.  When,  at  breakfast,  red 
mullet  came  upon  the  table,  and  oranges  fresh  from  the 
tree,  I  straightway  took  off  my  Northern  nature  as  a  gar- 
ment, folded  it  and  packed  it  neatly  away  in  my  knapsack, 
and  took,  out  in  its  stead,  the  light,  beribboned,  and  be- 
spangled Southern  nature,  which  I  had  not  worn  for  some 


148  BY-WAYS   OF   El  ROPE. 

eight  or  nine  years.  It  was  like  a  dressii.g-gown  after  a 
dress-coat,  and  I  went  about  with  a  delightfully  free  play 
of  the  mental  and  moral  joints. 

There  were  four  hours  before  the  departure  of  the  dili- 
gence for  Spain,  and  I  presume  I  might  have  seen  various 
historical  or  architectural  sights  of  Perpignan ;  but  I  was 
really  too  comfortable  for  anything  else  than  a  lazy  mean- 
dering about  the  city,  feeding  my  eyes  on  quaint  houses 
groups  of  people  full  of  noise  and  gesture,  the  scarlet  blos- 
soms of  the  pomegranate,  and  the  glitter  of  citron-leaves 
in  the  gardens.  A  one-legged  fellow,  seven  feet  high,  who 
called  himself  a  commissionaire,  insisted  on  accompanying 
me,  and  I  finally  accepted  him,  for  two  reasons;  —  first,  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  the  city ;  and  secondly,  tour- 
ists are  so  rare  that  he  must  have  been  very  poor.  His 
wooden  leg,  moreover,  easily  kept  pace  with  my  loitering 
steps,  and  though,  as  a  matter  of  conscience,  he  sometimes 
volunteered  a  little  information,  he  took  n)y  silence  meekly 
and  without  offense.  In  this  wise,  I  gained  some  pleasant 
pictures  of  the  place ;  and  the  pictures  which  come  with 
least  effort  are  those  which  remain  freshest  in  memory. 

There  was  one  point,  however,  where  my  limping  giant 
made  a  stand,  and  set  his  will  against  expostulation  or  en- 
treaty. I  must  see  the  avenue  of  sycamores,  he  said ;  there 
was  plenty  of  time ;  France,  the  world,  had  no  such  avenue  ; 
it  was  near  at  hand  ;  every  stranger  went  to  see  it  and  was 
amazed ;  —  and  therewith  he  set  off,  without  waiting  for  my 
answer.  I  followed,  for  I  saw  that  otherwise  he  would  not 
have  considered  his  fee  earned.  The  avenue  of  sycamores 
was  indeed  all  that  he  had  promised.  I  had  seen  largei 
trees  in  Syria  and  Negropont,  but  here  was  a  triple  avenue, 
nearly  half  a  mile  in  length,  so  trained  and  sculptured  that 
they  rivaled  the  regularity  of  masonry.  Each  trunk,  at 
the  height  of  ten  or  twelve  feet,  divided  into  two  arms, 
which  then  leaned  outwards  at  the  same  angle,  and  mingled 
their  smaller  boughs,  fifty  feet  overhead      The  aisles  be 


IfROM    PlliPlGNAN   TO   MONTSERRAT.  14J» 

tween  them  thus  took  the  form  of  very  slender  pyramids, 
tnmcated  near  the  top.  If  the  elm  gives  the  Gothic,  this 
was  assuredly  the  Cyclopean  arch.  In  the  beginning,  the 
effect  must  have  been  artificially  produced,  but  the  trees 
were  now  so  old,  and  had  so  accustomed  themselves  to  the 
forms  imposed,  that  no  impression  of  force  or  restraint  re- 
mained. Through  the  roof  of  this  superb  green  minster 
not  a  beam  of  sunshine  found  its  way.  On  the  hard  gravel 
floor  groups  of  peasants,  soldiers,  nurses,  and  children 
strolled  up  and  down,  all  with  the  careless  and  leisurely  air 
of  a  region  where  time  has  no  particular  value. 

We  passed  a  dark-haired  and  rather  handsome  gentle- 
man and  lady.  "  They  are  opera-singers,  Italians,"  said  my 
companion,  "  and  they  are  going  with  you  in  the  diligence." 
I  looked  at  my  watch  and  found  that  the  hour  of  departure 
had  nearly  arrived,  and  I  should  have  barely  time  to  pro- 
cure a  little  Spanish  money.  When  I  reached  the  office, 
the  gentleman  and  lady  were  already  installed  in  the  two 
corners  of  the  coupe.  My  place,  apparently,  was  between 
them.  The  agent  was  politely  handing  me  up  the  steps, 
when  the  gentleman  began  to  remonstrate ;  but  in  France 
the  regulations  are  rigid,  and  he  presently  saw  that  the  in- 
trusion could  not  be  prevented.  With  a  sigL  and  a  groan 
he  gave  up  his  comfortable  comer  to  me,  and  took  the 
middle  seat,  for  which  I  was  booked !  "  Will  you  have 
your  place  ? "  whispered  the  agent.  I  shook  my  head. 
"  You  get  the  best  seat,  don't  you  see  ?  "  he  resumed,  "  be- 
cause "  —  But  the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  a  wink  and  a 
laugh.  I  am  sure  there  is  the  least  possible  of  a  Don  Juan 
in  my  appearance  ;  yet  this  agent  never  lost  an  opportunity 
to  wink  at  me  whenever  he  came  near  the  diligence,  and 
I  fancied  I  heard  him  humming  to  himself,  as  we  drove 

away,  — 

"  Ma  —  nella  Spagna  —  mille  e  tre  !  " 

I  endeavored  to  be  reasonably  courteous,  without  famili- 
•rity,  towards  the  opera-singers,  but  the  effect  of  the  mali- 


160  BY-WAYS   OF   EUR0Pt5. 

cious  winks  and  smiles  made  the  lady  appear  to  me  timid 
and  oppressed,  and  the  gentleman  an  imexploded  mine  of 
jealousy.  My  remarks  were  civilly  if  briefly  answered,  and 
then  they  turned  towards  each  other  and  began  conversing 
in  a  language  which  was  not  Italian,  although  melodious,  nor 
French,  although  nasal.  I  pricked  up  my  ears  and  listened 
more  sharply  than  good  manners  allowed  —  but  only  until 
I  had  recognized  the  Portuguese  tongue.  Whomsoever  I 
may  meet  in  wandering  over  the  world,  it  rarely  happen^ 
that  I  cannot  discover  some  common  or  "  mutual  "  friend, 
and  in  this  instance  I  determined  to  try  the  experiment. 
After  preliminaries,  which  gently  led  the  conversation  to 
Portugal,  I  asked,  — 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  Count  M ?" 

"  Only  by  name." 

"Or  Senhor  0 ,  a  young  man  and  an  astronomer?" 

"  Very  well !  "  was  the  reply.  "  He  is  one  of  the  most 
distinguished  young  men  of  science  in  Portugal." 

The  ice  was  thereupon  broken,  and  the  gentleman  be- 
came communicative  and  agreeable.  I  saw,  very  soon,  that 
the  pair  were  no  more  opera-singers  than  they  were  Ital- 
ians ;  that  the  lady  was  not  timid,  nor  her  husband  jealous ; 
but  he  had  simply  preferred,  as  any  respectable  husband 
would,  to  give  up  his  comfortable  seat  rather  than  have  a 
stranger  thrust  between  himself  and  his  wife. 

Once  out  of  Perpignan,  the  Pyrenees  lay  clear  before 
us.  Over  bare  red  hills,  near  at  hand,  rose  a  gray  moun- 
tain rampart,  neither  lofty  nor  formidable ;  but  westward, 
between  the  valleys  of  the  Tech  and  the  Tet,  towered 
the  solitary  pyramid  of  the  Canigou,  streaked  with  snow- 
filled  ravines.  The  landscapes  would  have  appeared  bleak 
and  melancholy,  but  for  the  riotous  growth  of  vines  which 
cover  the  plain  and  climb  the  hillsides  wherever  there  is 
room  for  a  terrace  of  earth.  These  vines  produce  the  dark, 
rich  wine  of  Roussillon,  the  best  vintage '  of  Southern 
France.     Hedges  of  aloes,  clumps  of  Southern  cypress, 


FROM   PERPIGNAN   TO   MONTSERRAT.  161 

poplars  by  the  dry  beds  of  winter  streams,  with  brown  tinia 
in  the  houses  and  red  in  the  soil,  increased  the  resemblance 
to  Spain.  Rough  fellows,  in  rusty  velvet,  who  now  and 
then  dug  their  dangling  heels  into  the  sides  of  the  mules 
or  asses  they  rode,  were  enough  like  arrieros  or  contraband 
distas  to  be  the  real  article.  Our  stout  and  friendly  coach- 
man, even,  was  hailed  by  the  name  of  Moreno,  and  spoke 
French  with  a  foreign  accent. 

At  the  post-station  of  Le  Boulou,  we  left  the  plain  of 
Roussillon  behind  us.  At  this  end  of  the  Pyrenean  chain 
there  are  no  such  trumpet-names  as  Roncesvalles,  Font- 
arabia,  and  Bidassoa.  Hannibal,  Cffisar,  Charlemagne,  and 
the  Saracens  have  marched  through  these  defiles,  and  left 
no  grand  historic  footprint,  but  they  will  always  keep  the 
interest  which  belongs  to  those  natural  barriers  and  division 
walls  whereby  races  and  histories  were  once  separated.  It 
was  enough .  for  me  that  here  were  the  Pyrenees,  and  I 
looked  forward,  perhaps,  with  a  keener  curiosity,  to  the  char- 
acter and  forms  of  their  scenery,  than  to  the  sentiment 
which  any  historic  association  could  produce.  A  broad  and 
perfect  highway  led  us  through  shallow  valleys,  whose  rocky 
sides  were  hung  with  rows  of  olive-trees,  into  wilder  and 
more  abrupt  dells,  where  vegetation  engaged  in  a  struggle 
with  stone,  and  without  man's  help  would  have  been  driven 
from  the  field.  Over  us  the  mountains  lifted  themselves  in 
bold  bastions  and  parapets,  disforested  now,  if  those  gray 
upper  plateaus  ever  bore  forests,  and  of  a  uniform  slaty 
gray  in  tone  except  where  reddish  patches  of  oxidation 
showed  like  the  rust  of  age. 

But,  like  "  all  waste  and  solitary  places,"  the  scenery  had 
its  own  peculiar  charm.  Poussin  and  Salvator  Rosa  would 
havr  seated  themselves  afresh  at  every  twist  of  the  glen, 
and  sketched  the  new  picture  which  it  unfolded.  The  huge 
rocks,  fallen  from  above,  or  shattered  in  the  original  up- 
heaval of  the  chain,  presented  a  thousand  sharp,  forcible 
»utlines  and  ragg<^d  fitcets  of  shadow,  and  the  two  native 


152  BY-WAYS   OF   l.UROPn. 

growths  of  the  Pyrenees  —  box  and  cork-oak  —  fringed 
them  as  thickets  or  overhung  them  as  trees,  in  the  wildest 
and  most  picturesque  combinations.  Indeed,  during  this 
portion  of  the  journey,  I  saw  scores  of  sketches  waiting  for 
the  selected  artist  who  has  not  yet  come  for  them, — ■ 
sketches  full  of  strength  and  beauty,  and  with  a  harmony 
of  color  as  simple  as  the  chord  of  triple  tones  in  music. 
When  to  their  dark  grays  and  greens  came  the  scarlet  Phry- 
gian cap  of  the  Catalonian,  it  was  brighter  than  sunshine. 

The  French  fortress  of  Bellegarde,  crowning  a  drum- 
shaped  mass  of  rock,  which  blocked  up  the  narrow  valley 
in  front,  announced  our  approach  to  the  Spanish  frontier. 
The  road  wound  back  and  forth  as  it  climbed  through  a 
stony  wilderness  to  the  mouth  of  a  gorge  under  the  fortress, 
and  I  saw,  before  we  entered  this  last  gateway  into  Spain, 
the  peak  of  the  Canigou  touched  with  sunset,  and  the  sweep 
of  plain  beyond  it  black  under  the  shadow  of  storm-clouds. 
On  either  side  were  some  heaps  of  stone,  left  from  forts 
and  chapels  of  the  Middle  Ages,  indicating  that  we  had  al- 
ready reached  the  summit  of  the  pass,  which  is  less  than  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level.  In  ten  minutes  the 
gorge  opened,  and  we  found  ourselves  suddenly  rattling 
along  the  one  street  of  the  gay  French  village  of  Perthus. 
Officers  from  Bellegarde  sat  at  the  table  in  front  of  the 
smart  cafe,  and  drank  absinthe  ;  soldiers  in  red  trousers 
chatted  with  the  lively  women  who  sold  tobacco  and  gro- 
ceries ;  there  were  trees,  little  gardens,  arbors  of  vine,  and 
the  valley  opened  southwards,  descending  and  broadening 
towards  a  cloudless  evening  sky. 

At  the  end  of  the  village  I  saw  a  granite  pyramid,  with 
the  single  word  '"Gallia"  engraved  upon  it;  a  few  paces 
farther,  two  marble  posts  bore  the  half-obliterated  arms  of 
Spain.  Here  the  diligence  paused  a  moment,  and  an  offi- 
cer of  customs  took  his  seat  beside  the  coachman.  The 
telegraph  pole  behind  us  was  of  barked  pine,  the  next  one 
in  front  was  painted   gray ;   the   venU    dc.   tabac   became 


FROM    PEBPTGNAN    TO    MCNTSERRAT.  161 

estanco  nacionol,  and  the  only  overlapping  of  tne  two  na- 
tionalities vrjiich  T  observed  —  all  things  else  being  sud- 
denly and  sharply  divided  —  was  that  some  awkward  and 
dusty  Spanish  soldiers  were  walking  up  the  street  of  Per- 
thus,  and  some  trim,  jaunty  French  soldiers  were  walking 
down  the  road,  towards  the  first  Spanish  wine-shop.  We 
also  went  down,  and  swiftly,  in  the  falling  twilight,  through 
which,  erelong,  gardens  and  fields  began  to  glimmer,  anc 
in  half  an  hour  drew  up  in  the  little  Spanish  town  of  La 
Junquera,  the  ancient  ''  place  of  rushes."  Here  there  was 
a  rapid  and  courteous  examination  of  baggage,  a  call  for 
passports,  which  were  opened  and  then  handed  back  to  us 
without  vise  or  fee  being  demanded,  and  we  were  declared 
free  to  journey  in  Spain.  Verily  the  world  is  becoming 
civilized,  when  Spain,  the  moral  satrapy  of  Rome,  begins 
to  pull  down  her  bariiers  and  let  the  stranger  in  ! 

I  inspected  our  "  insides,"  as  they  issued  forth,  and  found, 
in  addition  to  a  priest  and  three  or  four  commercial  indi- 
viduals with  a  contraband  air,  a  young  French  naval  officer, 
and  an  old  German  who  was  too  practical  for  a  professor 
and  too  stubborn  in  his  views  to  be  anything  else.  He  had 
made  fifteen  journeys  to  Switzerland,  he  informed  me, 
knew  Scotland  from  the  Cheviots  to  John  o'  Groat's,  and 
now  proposed  the  conquest  of  Spain.  Here  Moreno  sum- 
moned us  to  our  places,  and  the  diligence  rolled  onward. 
Past  groups  of  Catalans,  in  sandals  and  scarlet  bonnets, 
returning  from  the  harvest  fields ;  past  stacks  of  dusky 
grain  and  shadowy  olive-orchards  ;  past  open  houses,  where 
a  single  lamp  sometimes  flashed  upon  a  woman's  head  : 
past  a  bonfire,  turning  the  cork-trees  into  transparent 
bronze,  and  past  the  sound  of  water,  plunging  undei  the 
idle  mill-wheel,  in  the  cool,  delicious  summer  air. —  we 
journeyed  on.  The  stars  were  beginning  to  gather  in  the 
sky,  when  square  towers  and  masses  of  cubic  houses  rose 
against  tliem.  and  the  steady  roll  of  our  wheels  on  the 
smooth  highway  became  a  dreadful  clatter  on  the  rough 
cobble-stones  of  Fimieras. 


154  BY-WAYS   OP  KUROPE. 

Tlie  Pyrenees  were  already  behind  us  ;  the  town  ove^ 
Jooks  a  wide,  marshy  plain.  But  the  mountains  make  theii 
vicinity  felt  io  a  peculiar  manner.  The  north-wind,  gath- 
ered into  the  low  pass  of  Bellegarde  and  drawn  to  a  focus 
of  strength,  blows  down  the  opening  valley  with  a  force 
which  sometimes  lays  an  embargo  on  travel.  Diligences 
are  o,verturned,  postilions  blown  out  of  their  saddles,  anu 
pedestrians  carried  off  their  feet.  The  people  then  pray 
to  their  saints  that  the  tramontana  may  cease ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  as  it  is  a  very  healthy  wind,  sweeping  away 
the  feverish  exhalations  from  the  marshy  soil,  they  get  up 
a  grand  annual  procession  to  some  mountain-shrine  of  the 
Virgin,  and  pray  that  it  may  blow.  So,  when  the  Virgin 
takes  them  at  their  word,  the  saints  are  invoked  on  the 
other  side,  and  the  wonder  is  that  both  parties  don't  get 
out  of  patience  with  the  people  of  Figueras. 

The  diligence  drew  up  at  the  door  of  a  fonda,  and 
Moreno  announced  that  we  were  to  take  supper  and  wait 
imtil  midnight.  This  was  welcome  news  to  all  ;  but  the 
old  German  drew  me  aside  as  we  entered  the  house,  and 
whispered,  "  Now  our  stomachs  are  going  to  be  tried." 
"  Not  at  all,"  I  answered,  "  we  shall  find  very  good  prov- 
ender." "  But  the  guide-book  says  it  is  very  bad,"  he 
persisted.  And  he  looked  despondent,  even  with  a  clean 
table-cloth  and  a  crisp  roll  of  bread  before  him,  until  the 
soup  steamed  under  his  nose.  His  face  brightened  at  the 
odor,  grew  radiant  at  tlie  flavor,  and  long  before  we  reached 
the  roast  pullet  and  salad,  he  expressed  his  satisfaction 
with  Spanish  cookery.  "With  the  dessert  came  a  vino  rancio, 
full  of  summer  fire,  and  the  tongues  of  the  company  were 
loosened.  From  the  weather  and  the  Paris  Exposition 
we  leaped  boldly  into  politics,  and,  being  on  Spanieh  aoil, 
discussed  France  and  the  Mexican  business.  The  French 
officer  was  silent  and  annoyed ;  he  was  a  pleastnt  fellow, 
and  I,  for  one,  had  a  little  sympathy  with  "his  annoyance, 
but  I  could  not  help  saying  that  all  Americans  (except  thf 


FROM    PERPIGNAN   TO   MONTSERRAT.  I5{i 

Rev. )  considered  the  action  of  France  as  an  out* 

rage  and  an  impertinence,  and  were  satisfied  with  her 
miserable  failure.  The  Spanish  passengers  nodded  and 
smiled. 

I  should  not  have  spoken,  had  I  foreseen  one  conse- 
quence of  my  words.  The  German  snatched  the  reins  ol 
conversation  out  of  our  hands,  and  dashed  off  at  full  speed, 
trampling  France  and  her  ruler  under  his  feet  At  the 
first  pause,  I  said  to  him,  in  German  :  "  Pray  don't  be  so 
violent  in  your  expressions,  —  the  gentleman  beside  me  is 
a  naval  officer."  But  he  answered  :  "  I  don't  care,  I  must, 
speak  my  mind,  which  I  could  not  do  in  Paris.  France 
has  been  the  curse  of  Spain,  as  well  as  of  all  Europe,  and 
there  will  be  no  peace  until  we  put  a  stop  to  her  preten- 
sions !  "  Thereupon  he  said  the  same  thing  to  the  com- 
pany ;  but  the  Spaniards  were  too  politic  to  acquiesce  openly. 
The  officer  replied,  "  France  has  not  injured  Spain,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  has  protected  her  !  "  and  he  evidently  had 
not  the  slightest  suspicion  that  there  was  anything  offensive 
in  his  words.  The  Spaniards  still  remained  silent,  but 
another  expression  came  into  their  eyes.  It  was  time 
to  change  the  subject ;  so  the  principle  of  non-intervention, 
in  its  fullest,  most  literal  sense,  was  proposed  and  ac- 
cepted. A  grave  Majorcan  gentlenian  distributed  cigars ; 
his  daughter,  with  her  soft,  melodious  voice,  was  oil  to  the 
troubled  waters,  and  before  midnight  we  were  all  equally 
courteous  and  cosmopolitan. 

Of  the  four  ensuing  hours  I  can  give  no  account. 
Neither  asleep  nor  awake,  hearing  with  closed  eyes  or  see- 
with  half-closed  senses,  one  can  never  afterwards  distinguish 
between  what  is  seen  and  what  is  dreamed.  This  is  a 
state  in  which  the  body  may  possibly  obtain  some  rest,  but 
the  n)ind  becomes  inexpressibly  fatigued.  One's  memory 
of  it  is  a  blurred  sketch,  a  faded  daguerreotype.  I  wel 
corned  that  hour  when  — 

"  The  wind  blows  cold 
While  the  morning  doth  unfold." 


166  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

for  it  blew  away  this  film,  which  usurped  the  place  of  the 
blessed  mantle  of  sleep.  Chill,  even  here  in  African 
Spain,  where  the  pale  pearl  of  the  dawn  foretold  a  burning 
noon,  and  where,  in  May,  the  harvests  were  already  reaped, 
the  morning  brightened ;  but  we  were  near  the  end  of  the 
journey.  At  sunrise,  the  towers  of  Girona  stood  fast  and 
firm  over  the  misty  level  of  the  shimmering  olive-groves  ; 
then  the  huge  dull  mass  of  the  cathedral,  the  walls  and 
bastions  of  the  hill-forts,  which  resisted  a  siege  of  seven 
months  during  the  Peninsular  War,  and  finally  the  monot 
onous  streets  of  the  lower  town,  through  which  we  drove. 

The  industrious  Catalans  were  already  awake  and  stir- 
ring. Smokes  from  domestic  hearths  warmed  the  cool 
morning  air ;  cheerful  noises  of  men,  animals,  and  fowls 
broke  the  silence ;  doors  were  open  as  we  entered  the  town, 
and  the  women  were  combing  and  twisting  their  black 
hair  in  the  shadows  within.  At  the  post  some  brown 
grooms  lounged  about  the  door.  A  priest  passed,  —  a  gen- 
uine Don  Basilio,  in  inky  gown  and  shovel  hat ;  and  these 
graceless  grooms  looked  after  him,  thrust  their  tongues 
into  their  cheeks,  and  made  an  irreverent  grimace.  The 
agent  at  Perpignan  came  into  my  mind ;  I  winked  at  the 
fellows,  without  any  clear  idea  wherefore,  but  it  must  have 
expressed  something,  fo'r  they  burst  into  a  laugh  and  re 
peated  the  grimace. 

The  lower  town  seemed  to  be  of  immense  length.  Once 
out  of  it,  a  superb  avenue  of  plane  trees  received  us,  at  the 
end  of  which  was  the  railway  station.  In  another  hour  the 
train  would  leave  for  Barcelona.  Our  trunks  must  be 
igain  examined.  When  I  asked  the  reason  why  this  an- 
noying regulation,  obsolete  elsewhere  in  Europe,  is  here 
retained,  the  Spaniards  gravely  informed  me  that,  if  it  were 
abolished,  a  great  many  people  would  be  thrown  out  of 
employment.  Not  that  they  get  much  pay  for  the  exam- 
ination, —  but  they  are  constantly  bribed  not  to  examine  ! 
There  was  a  cafe  attached  to  the  station,  and  I  advised  my 


FROM   PERPIGNAN  TO   MONTSERRAT.  157 

fellow-passengers  to  take  a  cup  of  the  delicious  .'opy  choco* 
late  of  Spain,  after  which  one  accepts  the  inevitable  more 
patisrtly. 

I  found  the  landscapes  from  Girona  to  Barcelona  very 
bright  and  beautiful.  Our  locomotive  had  fallen  into  the 
national  habit :  it  was  stately  and  deliberate,  it  could  not 
be  hurried,  its  very  whistle  was  subdued  and  dignified. 
We  went  forward  at  an  easy  pace,  making  about  fifteen 
miles  an  hour,  which  enabled  me  to  notice  the  patient  in- 
dustry of  the  people,  as  manifested  on  every  plain  and  hill- 
side. The  Catalans  are  called  rough  and  imgraceful ;  beside 
the  sprightly  Andaliisians  they  seem  cold  and  repellent ; 
they  have  less  of  that  blue  blood  which  makes  the  beggar  as 
proud  as  the  grandee,  but  they  possess  the  virtue  of  labor, 
which,  however  our  artistic  tastes  may  undervahie  it,  is  the 
basis  from  which  all  good  must  spring.  When  I  saw  how 
the  red  and  rocky  hills  were  turned  into  garden-terraces, 
how  the  olive-trees  were  pruned  into  health  and  produc- 
tiveness, how  the  wheat  stood  so  thick  that  it  rolled  but 
stiffly  under  the  breeze,  I  forgot  the  jaunty  majos  of  Seville, 
and  gave  my  hearty  admiration  to  the  strong-backed  reap- 
ers in  the  fields  of  Catalonia. 

The  passengers  we  took  up  on  the  way,  though  belong- 
ing to  the  better  class,  and  speaking  Spanish  whenever  it 
was  necessary,  all  seemed  to  prefer  the  popular  dialect. 
Proprietors  of  estates  and  elegant  young  ladies  conversed 
together  in  the  rough  patois  of  the  peasants,  which  to  me 
was  especially  tantalizing,  because  it  sounded  so  familiar, 
and  yet  was  so  unintelligible.  It  is  in  reality  the  old  langite 
limousine  of  France,  kindred  to  the  Proven9al,  and  differs 
very  slightly  from  the  dialect  spoken  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Pyrenees.  It  is  terse,  forcible,  and  expressive,  and  1 
must  confess  that  the  lisping  Spanish,  beside  it,  seems  to 
gain  in  melody  at  the  expense  of  strength. 

We  approached  Barcelona  across  the  wide  plain  of  the 
Llobregat,  where   O'-ange  gardens   and   factory  chimneys, 


158  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

fountains  ♦'  i*  the  midst  of  roses,"  and  machine-shops  full  of 
grimy  workmen,  succeed  each  other  in  a  curious  tangle  oi 
poetry  and  greasy  fact     The  Mediterranean  gleams  in  a 
blue  line  on  the  left,  the  citadel  of  Monjuich  crowns  a  bluflf 
in  front ;  but  the  level  city  hides  itself  behind  the  foliage 
of  the  plain,  and  is  not  seen.     At  the  station  you  wait  half 
an  hour,  until  the  baggage  is  again  deposited  on  the  dis- 
secting-tables  of  the  custom  officers ;  and  here,  if,  instead 
of  joining  the  crowd  of  unhappy  murmurers  in  the  ante- 
room, you  take  your  station  in  the  doorway,  looking  down 
upon  porters,  peddlers,  idlers,  and  policemen,  you  are  sure 
to  be  diverted  by  a  little  comedy  acted  in  pantomime. 
An  outside  porter  has  in  some  way  interfered  with  the 
rights  of  a  station-povter ;  a  policeman  steps  between  the 
two,  the  latter  of  whom,  lifting  both  hands  to  heaven  in  a 
wild  appeal,  brings  theip  down  swiftly  and  thrusts  them 
out  before  him,  as  if  descending  to  earthly  justice.     The 
outsider  goes  through  the  same  gestures,  and  then  both, 
with  flashing  eyes  and  open  mouths,  teeth  glittering  under 
the  drawn  lips,  await  the  decision.     The  policeman  first 
makes  a  sabre-cut  with  his  right  arm,  then  with  his  left ; 
then  also  lifts  his  hands  to  heaven,  shakes  them  there  a 
moment,  and,  turning  as  he  brings  them  down,  faces  the 
outside  porter.     The  latter  utters  a  passionate  cry,  and  his 
arms  begin  to  rise ;  but  he  is  seized  by  the  shoulder  and 
turned  aside  ;  the  crowd  closes  in,  and  the  comedy  is  over. 
We  have  a  faint  interest  in   Barcelona  for  the  sake  of 
Columbus ;  but,  apart  from  this  one  association,  we  set  it 
down  beside  Manchester,  Lowell,  and  other  manufacturing 
cities.     It  was  so  crowded  within    its   former  walls,  that 
little  space  was  left  for  architectural  display.     In  many  of 
the   streets   I   doubt   whether    four    persons   could   walk 
abreast.    Only  in  the  Rambla,  a  broad  central  boulevard,  is 
there  any  chance  for  air  and  simshine,  and  all  the  leisure 
and  pleasure  of  the  city  is  poured  into  this  one  avenue. 
Since  the  useless  walls  have  been  removed,  an  ambitious 


FROM  PERPIGNAN  TO  MONTSEFRAT.  159 

modern  suburb  is  springing  up  on  the  west,  and  there  will, 
in  time,  be  a  new  city  better  than  the  old. 

This  region  appears  to  be  the  head- quarters  of  political 
discontent  in  Spain,  —  probably  because  the  people  get  to 
be  more  sensible  of  the  misrule  under  which  they  languish, 
in  proportion  as  they  become  more  active  and  industrious. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  peaceable  upon  the  surface 
than  the  aspect  of  things ;  the  local  newspapers  never  re- 
ported any  disturbance,  yet  intelligence  of  trouble  in  Cata- 
lonia was  circulating  through  the  rest  of  Europe,  and 
something  —  I  could  not  ascertain  precisely  what  it  was  — 
took  place  during  my  brief  visit.  The  telegraph-wires 
were  cut,  and  some  hundreds  of  soldiers  were  sent  into  the 
country ;  but  the  matter  was  never  mentioned,  unless  two 
persons  whom  I  saw  whispering  together  in  the  darkest  cor- 
ner of  a  cafe  were  discussing  it.  I  believe,  if  a  battle  had 
been  fought  within  hearing  of  the  cannon,  the  Barcelonese 
would  have  gone  about  the  streets  with  the  same  placid, 
unconcerned  faces.  Whether  this  was  cunning,  phlegm, 
or  the  ascendency  of  solid  material  interests  over  the  fiery, 
impulsive  nature  of  the  Spaniard,  was  not  clear  to  a  pass- 
ing observer.     In  either  case  it  was  a  prudent  course. 

If,  in  the  darkened  streets  —  or  rather  lanes  —  of  Bar- 
celona, I  saw  some  suggestive  pictures ;  if  the  court-yard 
of  the  cathedral,  with  its  fountains  and  orange  -  trees, 
seemed  a  thousand  miles  removed  from  the  trade  and 
manufacture  of  the  city ;  if  the  issuing  into  sunshine  on 
the  mole  was  like  a  blow  in  the  eyes,  to  which  the  sapphire 
bloom  of  the  Mediterranean  became  a  healing  balm ;  and 
if  the  Rambla,  towards  evening,  changed  into  a  shifting 
diorama  of  color  and  cheerful  life,  —  none  of  these  things 
inclined  me  to  remain  longer  than  the  preparation  for  my 
further  journey  required.  Before  reaching  the  city,  I  had 
caught  a  glimpse,  far  up  the  valley  of  the  Llobregat,  ol"  a 
high,  curiously  serrated  mountain,  and  that  old  book  of  the 
"Wonders  of  the  World"  (now,  alas!    driven   froni  the 


160  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

libraiy  of  childhood)  opened  its  pages  and  showed  its 
rough  woodcuts,  in  memory,  to  tell  me  what  the  mountain 
was.  How  many  times  has  that  wonderful  book  been  the 
chief  charm  of  my  travels,  causing  me  to  forget  Sulpicius 
on  the  -^gean  Sea,  Byron  in  Italy,  and  Humboldt  in  Mex- 


ico 


To  those  who  live  in  Barcelona,  Montserrat  has  become 
a  common-place,  the  resort  of  Sunday  excursions  and  pic- 
nics, one  fourth  devotional,  and  three  fourths  epicurean. 
Wild,  mysterious,  almost  inaccessible  as  it  stands  in  one's 
fancy,  it  sinks  at  this  distance  into  the  very  material  atmos- 
phere of  railroad  and  omnibus  ;  but,  for  all  that,  we  are 
not  going  to  give  it  up,  though  another  "  Wonder  of  the 
World "  should  go  by  the  board.  Take  the  Tarragona 
train  then  with  me,  on  a  cloudless  afternoon.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  scattered  suburban  blocks  are  left  behind,  and 
we  enter  the  belt  of  villas,  with  their  fountained  terraces 
and  tropical  gardens.  More  and  more  the  dark  red  earth 
shows  through  the  thin  foliage  of  the  olives,  as  the  hills 
draw  nearer,  and  it  finally  gives  color  to  the  landscapes. 
The  vines  covering  the  levels  and  lower  slopes  are  won- 
derfully luxuriant ;  but  we  can  see  how  carefully  they  are 
cultivated.  Hedges  of  aloe  and  cactus  divide  them  ;  here 
and  there  some  underground  cavern  has  tumbled  in,  let- 
ting down  irregular  tracts  of  soil,  and  the  vines  still  flour- 
ish at  the  bottom  of  the  pits  thus  made.  As  the  plain 
shrinks  to  a  valley,  the  hills  on  either  side  ascend  into 
rounded  summits,  which  begin  to  be  dark  with  pine  for- 
ests ;  villages  with  square,  brown  church-towers  perch  on 
the  lower  heights  ;  cotton-mills  draw  into  their  service  the 
scanty  waters  of  the  river,  and  the  appearance  of  cheerful, 
thrifty  labor  increases  as  the  country  becomes  rougher. 

All  this  time  the  serrated  mountain  is  drawing  nearer, 
and  breaking  into  a  wilder  confusion  of  pinnacles.  It  stands 
alone,  planted  across  the  base  of  a  triangular  tract  of  open 
country,  —  a  strange,  solitary,  exiled   peak,  drifted   away 


PBOM  PEKPIGNAN  TO  MONTSERRAT.  161 

in  the  beginning  of  things  from  its  brethren  of  the  Pyre- 
nees, and  stranded  in  a  different  geological  period.  This 
circumstance  must  have  long  ago  impressed  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  region  —  even  in  the  ante-historic  ages.  When 
Christianity  rendered  a  new  set  of  traditions  necessary, 
the  story  arose  that  the  mountain  was  thus  split  and  shat- 
tered at  the  moment  when  Christ  breathed  his  last  on  the 
cross  of  Calvary.  This  is  still  the  popular  belief;  but  the 
singular  formation  of  Montserrat,  independent  of  it,  was 
sufficient  to  fix  the  anchoretic  tastes  of  the  early  Christians. 
It  is  set  apart  by  Nature,  not  only  towering  above  all  the 
surrounding  heights,  but  drawing  itself  haughtily  away 
from  contact  with  them,  as  if  conscious  of  its  earlier  ori- 
gin. 

At  the  station  of  Martorel  I  lejfl  the  train,  and  took  a 
coach  which  was  in  waiting  for  the  village  of  Collbatd,  at 
the  southern  base  of  the  mountain.  My  companion  in  the 
coupe  was  a  young  cotton-manufacturer,  who  assured  me 
that  in  Spain  the  sky  and  soil  were  good,  but  the  entresot 
(namely,  the  human  race)  was  bad.  The  interior  was 
crowded  with  country-women,  each  of  whom  seemed  to 
have  four  large  baskets.  I  watched  the  driver  for  half  an 
hour  attempting  to  light  a  broken  cigar,  and  then  rewarded 
his  astonishing  patience  with  a  fresh  one,  whereby  we  be- 
came good  friends.  Such  a  peaceful  light  lay  upon  the 
landscape,  the  people  were  so  cheerful,  the  laborers  worked 
so  quietly  in  the  vineyards,  that  the  thought  of  a  political 
disturbance  the  day  before  seemed  very  absurd.  The 
olive-trees,  which  clothed  the  hills  wherever  their  bony 
roots  could  find  the  least  lodgment  of  soil,  were  of  re- 
markably healthy  and  vigorous  growth,  and  the  regular 
cubic  form  into  which  they  were  pruned  marked  the  climb- 
ing terraces  with  long  lines  of  gray  light,  as  the  sun 
slanted  across  them. 

"  You  see,"  said  the  Spaniard,  as  I  noticed  this  peculiar 
ity,  "  the  entresol  is  a  little  better  in  this  neighborhood  than 


162  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

elsewhere  in  Spain.  The  people  cut  the  trees  intc  thll 
shape  in  order  that  they  may  become  more  compact  and 
produce  better ;  besides  which,  the  fruit  is  more  easily 
gathered.  In  all  those  orchards  you  will  not  find  a  decayed 
or  an  unhealthy  tree  ;  such  are  dug  up  and  burned,  and 
young  ones  planted  in  their  place." 

At  the  village  of  Esparaguerra  the  other  passengers 
left,  and  I  went  on  towards  CoUbatd  alone.  But  I  had 
Montserrat  for  company,  towering  more  grandly,  more 
brokenly,  from  minute  to  minute.  Every  change  in  the 
foreground  gave  me  a  new  picture.  Now  it  was  a  clump 
of  olives  with  twisted  trunks  ;  now  an  aloe,  lifting  its  giant 
candelabrum  of  blossoms  from  the  edge  of  a  rock  ;  now  * 
bank  of  dull  vermilion  earth,  upon  which  goats  were  hang- 
ing. The  upper  spires  of  the  mountain  disappeared  be- 
hind its  basal  buttresses  of  gray  rock,  a  thousand  feet  in 
perpendicular  height,  and  the  sinking  sun,  as  it  crept  west- 
ward, edged  these  with  sharp  lines  of  light.  Up,  under 
the  tremendous  cliffs,  and  already  in  shadow,  lay  Collbatd, 
and  I  was  presently  set  down  at  the  gate  of  the  posada. 

Don  Pedro,  the  host,  came  forward  to  meet  and  welcome 
me,  and  his  pretty  daughter,  sitting  on  the  steps,  rose  up 
and  dropped  a  salute.  In  the  entrance  hall  I  read,  painted 
in  large  letters  on  tKe  wall,  the  words  of  St.  Augustine : 
"  In  necessarits  uniias  ;  in  dubiis  libertas  ;  in  omnibus,  caritcu." 
Verily,  thought  I,  Don  Pedro  must  be  a  character.  I  had 
no  sooner  comfortably  seated  myself  in  the  doorway  to 
contemplate  the  exquisite  evening  landscape,  which  the 
Mediterranean  bounded  in  the  distance,  and  await  my  sup- 
per, than  Don  Pedro  ordered  his  daughter  to  bring  the 
guests'  book,  and  then  betook  himself  to  the  task  of  run- 
ning down  a  lean  chicken.  In  the  record  of  ten  years  I 
found  that  Germans  were  the  most  frequent  visitors  ;  Amer- 
icans appeared  but  thrice.  One  party  of  the  latter  regis- 
tered themselves  as  "  gentlemen,"  and  stated  that  they  had 
•een  the  "  promanent  points,"  —  which  gave  occasion  to  a 


PROM   PERPIGNAN   TO   MONtSERRAT.  163 

bter  Englishman  to  comment  upon  the  intelligence  of 
American  gentlemen.  The  hosfs  daughter,  Pepita,  was 
the  theme  of  praise  in  prose  and  raptures  in  poetry. 

"Are  you  Pepita?"  I  asked,  turning  to  the  girl,  who  sat 
on  the  steps  before  me,  gazing  into  the  evening  sky  with  an 
expression  of  the  most  indolent  happiness.  I  noticed  for 
the  first  time,  and  admired,  her  firm,  regular,  almost  Roman 
profile  and  the  dark  masses  of  real  hair  on  her  head.  Her 
attitude,  also,  was  very  graceful,  and  she  would  have  been, 
to  impressible  eyes,  a  phantom  of  delight,  but  for  the  un- 
graceful fact  that  she  inveterately  scratched  herself  when- 
ever and  wherever  a  flea  happened  to  bite. 

"  No,  senor,"  she  answered ;  "  I  am  Carmen.  Pepita 
was  married  first,  and  then  Mariquita.  Angelita  and  my- 
self are  the  only  ones  at  home." 

"  I  see  there  is  also  a  poem  to  Angelita,"  I  remarked, 
turning  over  the  last  leaves. 

"  0,  that  was  a  poet ! "  said  she,  —  "a  funny  man !  Every- 
body knows  him :  he  writes  for  the  theatre,  and  all  that  is 
about  some  eggs  which  Angelita  fried  for  him.  We  can't 
understand  it  all,  but  we  think  it's  good-natured." 

Here  the  mother  came,  not  as  duenna,  but  as  companion, 
with  her  distaff  and  spindle,  and  talked  and  span  until  I 
could  no  longer  distinguish  the  thread  against  her  gray 
dress.  When  the  lean  chicken  was  set  before  me,  Don 
Pedro  announced  that  a  mule  and  guide  would  be  in  readi- 
ness at  sunrise,  and  I  could,  if  I  chose,  mount  to  the  top- 
most peak  of  San  Geronimo.  In  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain, near  Collbato,  there  are  spacious  caverns,  which  most 
travellers  feel  bound  to  visit ;  but  I  think  that  six  or  seven 
caves,  one  coal  mine,  and  one  gold  mine  are  enough  for  a 
life-time,  and  have  renounced  any  further  subterranean  re- 
searches. Why  delve  into  those  dark,  moist,  oppressive 
crypts,  when  the  blessed  sunshine  of  years  shows  one  so 
little  of  the  earth  and  of  human  life?  Let  any  one  that 
chooses  come  and  explore  the  caverns  of  Montserrat,  and 


164  BY-WAYS   OF  EUKOPE. 

theu  tell  me  (as  people  have  a  passion  for  doing),  "Ton 
missed  the  best ! "  The  best  is  that  with  which  one  is  satis* 
fied. 

Instead  of  five  o'clock,  when  I  should  have  been  called, 
I  awoke  naturally  at  six,  and  found  that  Don  Pedro  had 
set  out  for  San  Geronimo  four  hours  before,  while  neither 
guide  nor  mule  was  forthcoming.  The  old  woman  pointed 
to  some  specks  far  up  in  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  which 
she  assured  me  were  travellers,  and  would  arrive  with 
mules  in  fifteen  minutes.  But  I  applied  the  words  in  dtibiis 
libertas,  and  insisted  on  an  immediate  animal  and  guide, 
both  of  which,  somewhat  to  my  surprise,  were  produced. 
The  black  mule  was  strong,  and  the  lank  old  Catalan  shoul- 
dered my  heavy  valise  and  walked  off"  without  a  murmur. 
The  sun  was  already  hot;  but  once  risen  above  the  last 
painfully  constructed  terrace  of  olives,  and  climbing  the 
stony  steep,  we  dipped  into  the  cool  shadow  of  the  mouu- 
taiu.  The  path  was  difficult  but  not  dangerous,  winding 
upward  through  rocks  fringed  with  dwarf  ilex,  box,  and 
mastic,  which  made  the  air  fragrant.  Thyme,  wild  flax, 
and  aconite  blossomed  in  the  crevices.  The  botany  of  the 
mountain  is  as  exceptional  as  its  geology ;  it  includes  five 
hundred  different  species. 

The  box-tree,  which  my  Catalan  guide  called  hosch  in  his 
dialect,  is  a  reminiscence,  wherever  one  sees  it,  of  Italy 
and  Greece  —  of  ancient  culture  and  art.  Its  odor,  as 
Holmes  admirably  says,  suggests  eternity.  If  it  was  not 
the  first  plant  that  sprang  up  on  the  cooling  planet,  it 
-ght  to  have  been.  Its  glossy  mounds,  and  rude,  stat- 
esque  clumps,  which  oflen  seem  struggling  to  mould 
themselves  into  human  shape,  cover  with  beauty  the  ter- 
rible rocks  of  Montserrat.  M.  Delavigne  had  warned  me 
of  the  dangers  of  the  path  I  was  pursuing,  —  walls  on  one 
side,  and  chasms  a  thousand  feet  deep  on  the  other,  —  but 
^he  box  everywhere  shaped  itself  into  protecting  figures, 
and  whispered  as  I  went  bj ,  "  Never  fear ;  if  you  slip,  I 
wUl  hold  you  !  " 


FROM   PERPIGNAN   TO   MONTSERRAT.  166 

The  mountain  is  an  irregular  cone,  about  thirt)-five  hun- 
dred feet  in  height,  and  cleft  down  the  middle  by  a  torrent 
which  breaks  through  its  walls  on  the  northeastern  side. 
It  presents  a  perpendicular  face,  which  seems  inaccessible, 
for  the  shelves  between  the  successive  elevations,  when 
seen  from  below,  appear  as  narrow  fringes  of  vegetation, 
growing  out  of  one  unbroken  wall.  They  furnish,  indeed, 
but  scanty  room  for  the  bridle-path,  which  at  various  points 
is  both  excavated  and  supported  by  arches  of  masonry. 
After  nearly  an  hour,  I  found  myself  over  Collbatd,  upon 
the  roofs  of  which,  it  seemed,  I  might  fling  a  stone.  At 
the  next  angle  of  the  mountain,  the  crest  was  attained,  and 
I  stood  between  the  torn  and  scarred  upper  wilderness  of 
Montserrat  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  broad,  airy  sweep  of 
landscape,  bounded  by  the  sea,  on  the  other.  To  the  north- 
ward a  similar  cape  thrust  out  its  sheer  walls  against  the 
dim,  dissolving  distances,  and  it  was  necessary  to  climb 
along  the  sides  of  the  intervening  gulf,  which  sank  under 
me  into  depths  of  shadow.  Every  step  of  the  way  was 
inspiring,  for  there  was  the  constant  threat,  without  the 
reality,  of  danger.  My  mule  paced  securely  along  the 
giddy  brinks;  and  through  the  path  seemed  to  terminate  fifty 
paces  ahead,  I  was  always  sure  to  find  a  loop-hole  or  coigne 
of  vantage  which  the  box  and  mastic  had  hidden  from  sight. 
So  in  another  hour  the  opposite  foreland  was  attained,  and 
from  its  crest  I  saw,  all  along  the  northern  horizon,  the 
snowy  wall  of  the  Pyrenees. 

Here  a  path  branched  off  to  the  peak  of  San  Geronimo, 
—  a  two  hours'  clamber  through  an  absolute  desert  of  rock. 
My  guide,  although  panting  and  sweating  with  his  load, 
proposed  the  ascent ;  but  in  the  film  of  heat  which  over- 
spread the  land  I  should  have  only  had  a  wider  panorama 
n  which  all  distinct  forms  were  lost,  —  vast,  no  doubt,  but 
as  blurred  and  intangible  as  a  metaphysical  treatise.  I 
judged  it  better  to  follow  the  example  of  a  pious  peasant 
and  his  wife  whom  we  had  overtaken,  and  who,  setting 


166  BY-WAfS   OF   EUROPE. 

their  faces  toward  the  renowned  monastery,  murmured  an 
Ave  from  time  to  time.  Erelong,  on  emerging  from  the 
thickets,  we  burst  suddenly  upon  one  of  the  wildest  and 
most  wonderful  pictures  I  ever  beheld.  A  tremendous 
wall  of  rock  arose  in  front,  crowned  by  colossal  turrets, 
pyramids,  clubs,  pillars,  and  ten-pin  shaped  masses,  which 
were  drawn  singly,  or  in  groups  of  incredible  distortion, 
against  the  deep  blue  of  the  sky.  At  the  foot  of  the  rock, 
the  buildings  of  the  monastery,  huge  and  massive,  the 
church,  the  houses  for  pilgrims,  and  the  narrow  gardens, 
completely  filled  and  almost  overhung  a  horizontal  shelf 
of  the  mountain,  under  which  it  again  fell  sheer  away, 
down,  down  into  misty  depths,  the  bottom  of  which  was 
hidden  from  sight.  I  dropped  from  the  mule,  sat  down 
upon  the  grass,  and,  under  pretense  of  sketching,  studied 
this  picture  for  an  hour.  In  all  the  galleries  of  memory  I 
could  find  nothing  resembling  it. 

The  descriptions  of  Montserrat  must  have  made  a  power- 
ful impression  uporv  Goethe's  mind,  since  he  deliberately 
appropriated  the  scenery  for  the  fifth  act  of  the  Second 
Part  of  Faust.  Goethe  was  in  the  steadfast  habit  of  choos- 
ing a  local  and  actual  habitation  for  the  creations  of  his 
imagination  ;  his  landscapes  were  always  either  painted 
from  nature,  or  copied  from  the  sketch-books  of  others. 
The  marvelous  choruses  of  the  fifth  act  floated  through 
my  mind  as  I  drew ;  the  "  Pater  Ecstaticus  "  hovered  in  the 
sunny  air,  the  anchorites  chanted  from  their  caves,  and  the 
mystic  voices  of  the  undeveloped  child-spirits  came  between, 
like  the  breathing  of  an  ^Eolian  harp.  I  suspect  that  the 
sanctity  of  the  mountain  really  depends  as  much  upon  its 
extraordinary  forms,  as  upon  the  traditions  which  have  beea 
gradually  attached  to  it.  These  latter,  however,  are  so 
strange  and  grotesque,  that  they  could  only  be  accepted 
here. 

The  monastery  owes  its  fout/dation  to  a  miraculous  statue 
of  the  Virgin,  sculptured  by  St.  Luke,  and  brought  to  Spain 


^OM  PERPIGNAN  TO  MONTSEKRAT.  167 

by  no  less  a  peisonage  than  St.  Peter.  In  the  year  880, 
some  shepherds  who  had  climbed  the  mountain  in  search  of 
stray  goats  heard  celestial  harmonies  among  the  rocks.  This 
phenomenon  coming  to  the  ears  of  Bishop  Gondemar,  he 
climbed  to  the  spot,  and  was  led  by  the  music  to  the  mouth 
of  a  cave,  which  exhaled  a  delicious  perfume.  There,  en- 
shrined in  light,  lay  the  sacred  statue.  Gondemar  and  his 
priests,  chanting  as  they  went,  set  out  for  Manresa,  the 
seat  of  the  diocese,  carrying  it  with  them;  but  on  reaching 
a  certain  spot,  they  found  it  impossible  to  move  farther. 
The  statue  obstinately  refused  to  accompany  them  —  which 
was  taken  as  a  sign  that  there,  and  nowhere  else,  the  shrine 
should  be  built.  Just  below  the  monastery  there  still 
stands  a  cross,  with  the  inscription,  "  Here  the  Holy  Image 
declared  itself  immovable,  880." 

The  chapel  when  built  was  intrusted  to  the  pious  care 
of  Fray  Juan  Garin,  whose  hermitage  is  pointed  out  to  you, 
on  a  peak  which  seems  accessible  only  to  the  eagle.  The 
Devil,  however,  interfered,  as  he  always  does  in  such  cases. 
He  first  entered  into  Riquilda.  the  daughter  of  the  Count  of 
Barcelona,  and  then  declared  through  her  mouth  that  he 
would  not  quit  her  body  except  by  the  order  of  Juan  Garin,' 
the  hermit  of  Montserrat.  Riquilda  was  therefore  sent  to 
the  mountain  and  given  into  the  hermit's  charge.  A  temp- 
tation similar  to  that  of  St.  Anthony  followed,  but  with  ex- 
actly the  opposite  result.  In  order  to  conceal  his  sin,  Juan 
Garin  cut  off  Riquilda's  head,  buried  her,  and  fled.  Over- 
taken by  remorse,  he  made  his  way  to  Rome,  confessed  him- 
self to  the  Pope,  and  prayed  for  a  punishment  profK)rtioned 
to  his  crime.  He  was  ordered  to  become  a  beast,  never 
lifting  his  face  towards  heaven,  until  the  hour  when  God 
Himself  should  signify  his  pardon. 

0  jan  Garin  went  forth  from  the  Papal  presence  on  his 
hands  and  knees,  crawled  back  to  Montserrat,  and  there 
lived  seven  years  as  a  wild  animal,  eating  grass  and  bark, 
nnd  never  lifting  his  face  towards  heaven.     At  the  end  of 


168  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

this  time  his  body  was  entirely  covered  with  hair,  and  it  so 
happened  that  the  hunters  of  the  count  snared  him  as  a 
strange  beast,  put  a  chain  around  his  neck,  and  took  him 
to  Barcelona.  In  the  mansion  of  the  Count  there  was  an 
infant  only  five  months  old,  in  its  nurse's  arms.  No  sooner 
had  the  child  beheld  the  supposed  animal,  than  it  gave  a 
loud  cry  and  exclaimed :  "  Rise  up,  Juan  Garin ;  God  has 
pardoned  thee  ! "  Then,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  the 
beast  arose  and  spoke  in  a  human  tongue.  He  told  his 
story,  and  the  Count  set  out  at  once  with  him  to  the  spot 
where  Riquilda  was  buried.  They  opened  the  grave  and 
the  maiden  rose  up  alive,  with  only  a  rosy  mark,  like  a 
thread,  around  her  neck.  In  commemoration  of  so  many 
miracles,  the  Count  founded  the  monastery. 

At  present,  the  monks  retain  but  a  fragment  of  their 
former  wealth  and  power.  Their  number  is  reduced  to 
nineteen,  which  is  barely  enough  to  guard  the  shrine,  per- 
form their  offices,  and  prepare  and  bless  the  rosaries  and 
other  articles  of  devotional  traffic.  I  visited  the  church, 
courts,  and  corridors,  but  took  no  pains  to  get  sight  of  the 
miraculous 'Statue.  I  have  already  seen  both  the  painting 
"and  the  sculpture  of  St.  Luke,  and  think  him  one  of  the 
worst  artists  that  ever  existed.  Moreover,  the  place  is  fast 
assuming  a  secular,  not  to  say  profane  air.  There  is  a 
modern  restaurant,  with  bill  of  fare  and  wine  list,  inside 
the  gate,  ticket-office  for  travellers,  and  a  daily  omnibus  to 
the  nearest  railway  station.  Ladies  in  black  mantillas 
lounge  about  the  court-yards,  gentlemen  smoke  on  the  bal- 
conies, and  only  the  brown-faced  peasant  pilgrims,  arriving 
with  weary  feet,  enter  the  church  with  an  expression  of  awe 
and  of  unquestioning  faith.  The  enormous  wealth  which 
(he  monastery  once  possessed  —  the  offering  of  kings  — 
has  disappeared  in  the  vicissitudes  of  Spanish  history,  the 
French,  in  1811,  being  the  last  pillagers.  Since  then,  the 
treasures  of  gold  and  jewels  have  not  returned  ;  for  the 
crowns  offered  to  the  Virgin  by  the  city  of  Barcelona  and 


FKOM   PERPIGNAX   TO   MONTSERRAT.  169 

by  a  rich  American  are  of  gilded  silver,  set  with  diamonds 
of  paste  ! 

I  loitered  for  hours  on  the  narrow  terraces  around  th» 
monastery,  constantly  finding  some  new  and  strange  com 
bination  of  forms  in  the  architecture  of  the  mountain. 
The  bright  silver-gray  of  the  rock  contrasted  finely  with 
the  dark  masses  of  eternal  box,  and  there  was  an  endless 
play  of  light  and  shade  as  the  sun  burst  suddenly  through 
some  unsuspected  gap,  or  hid  himself  behind  one  of  the 
giant  ten-pins  of  the  summit.  The  world  below  swam  in 
dim  red  undulations,  for  the  color  of  the  soil  showed  every- 
where through  its  thin  clothing  of  olive-trees.  In  hue  as 
in  form,  Montserrat  had  no  fellowship  with  the  surround- 
ing region. 

The  descent  on  the  northern  side  is  far  less  picturesque, 
inasmuch  as  you  are  perched  upon  the  front  seat  of  an 
omnibus,  and  have  an  excellent  road  —  a  work  of  great 
cost  and  labor  —  the  whole  way.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
you  skirt  the  base  of  a  number  of  the  detached  pillars  and 
pyramids  into  which  the  mountain  separates,  and  gain  fresh 
pictures  of  its  remarkable  structure.  There  is  one  isolated 
shaft,  visible  at  a  great  distance,  which  I  should  judge  to 
be  three  hundred  feet  in  height  by  forty  or  fifty  in  diameter. 
At  the  western  end,  the  outline  is  less  precipitous,  and 
here  the  fields  of  vine  and  olive  climb  much  higher  than 
elsewhere.  In  an  hour  from  the  time  of  leaving  the  mon- 
astery, we  were  below  the  last  rampart,  rolling  through 
dust  in  the  hot  valley  of  the  Llobregat,  and  tracing  the 
course  of  the  invisible  road  across  the  walls  of  Montserrat, 
with  a  feeling  of  incredulity  that  we  had  really  descended 
from  such  a  point. 

At  the  village  of  Montrisol,  on  the  river,  there  is  a  large 
cotton  factory.  The  doors  opened  as  we  approached,  and 
the  workmen  came  forth,  their  day's  labor  done.  IMen  and 
women,  boys  and  girls,  in  red  caps  a"nd  sandals,  or  bare- 
headed and  barefooted,  they  streamed  merrily  aljng  the 


170  BY-WAVS   OF   EUKOPE. 

road,  teeth  and  eyes  flashing  as  they  chatted  and  sang. 
They  were  no  pale,  melancholy  factory  slaves,  but  joyous 
and  light-hearted  children  of  labor,  and,  it  seemed  to  me, 
the  proper  successors  of  the  useless  idlers  in  the  monastery 
of  Montserrat.  Up  there,  on  the  mountain,  a  system,  all- 
powerful  in  the  past,  was  swiftly  dying ;  here,  in  the  valley 
was  the  first  life  of  the  only  system  that  can  give  a  future 
to  Spain. 


BALEARIC  DAYS. 
I. 


As  the  steamer  Mallorca  slowly  moved  out  of  the  har- 
bor of  Barcelona,  I  made  a  rapid  inspection  of  the  passen- 
gers gathered  on  deck,  and  found  that  I  was  the  only 
foreigner  among  them.  Ahuost  without  exception  they 
were  native  Majorcans,  returning  from  trips  of  business  or 
pleasure  to  the  Continent.  They  spoke  no  language  ex- 
cept Spanish  and  Catalan,  and  held  fast  to  all  the  little 
habits  and  fashions  of  their  insular  life.  If  anything  more 
had  been  needed  to  show  me  that  I  was  entering  upon  un- 
trodden territory,  it  was  supplied  by  the  joyous  surprise  of 
the  steward  when  I  gave  him  a  fee.  This  fact  reconciled 
me  to  my  isolation  on  board,  and  its  attendant  awkward- 
ness. 

I  knew  not  why  I  should  have  chosen  to  visit  the  Bale- 
anc  Islands,  unless  for  the  simple  reason  that  they  He  so 
much  aside  from  the  highways  of  travel,  and  are  not  rep- 
resented in  the  journals  and  sketch-books  of  tourists.  If 
any  one  had  asked  me  what  I  expected  to  see,  I  should 
have  been  obliged  to  confess  my  ignorance  ;  for  the  few 
dry  geographical  details  which  I  possessed  were  like  the 
chemical  analysis  of  a  liquor  wherefrom  no  one  can  recon- 
struct the  taste.  The  flavor  of  a  land  is  a  thing  quite 
apart  from  its  statistics.  There  is  no  special  guide-book 
for  the  islands,  and  the  slight  notices  in  the  works  on 
Spain  only  betray  the  haste  of  the  authors  to  get  over  a 
field  with  which  they  are  unacquainted.  But  this  very 
circumstance,  for  me,  had  grown  into  a  fascination.  One 
gets  tired  of  studying  the  bill  of  fare  in  advance  of  the 
repast.  When  the  sun  and  the  Spanish  coast  had  set  to- 
gether behind  the  placid  sea,  I  went  to  my  berth  with  the 


174  BY-WAYS   OF  EJBOPE. 

delightful  certainty  that  the  sun  of  the  morrow,  and  of 
many  days  thereafter,  would  rise  upon  scenes  and  adven 
tures  which  could  not  be  anticipated. 

The  distance  from  Barcelona  to  Palma  is  about  a  hun* 
dred  and  forty  miles ;  so  the  morning  found  us  skirting 
the  southwestern  extremity  of  Majorca  —  a  barren  coast, 
thrusting  low  headlands  of  gray  rock  into  the  sea,  and  hills 
covered  with  parched  and  stunted  chaparral  in  the  rear. 
The  twelfth  century,  in  the  shape  of  a  crumbling  Moorish 
watch-tower,  alone  greeted  us.  As  we  advanced  eastward 
into  the  Bay  of  Palma,  however,  the  wild  shrubbery 
melted  into  plantations  of  olive,  solitary  houses  of  fisher- 
men nestled  in  the  coves,  and  finally  a  village,  of  those 
soft  ochre-tints  which  are  a  little  brighter  than  the  soil, 
appeared  on  the  slope  of  a  hill.  In  front,  through  the 
pale  morning  mist  which  still  lay  upon  the  sea,  I  saw  the 
cathedral  of  Palma,  looming  grand  and  large  beside  the 
towers  of  other  churches,  and  presently,  gliding  past  a 
mile  or  two  of  country  villas  and  gardens,  we  entered  the 
crowded  harbor. 

Inside  the  mole  there  was  a  multitude  of  the  light  craft 
of  the  Mediterranean,  —  xebecs,  feluccas,  speronaras,  or 
however  they  may  be  termed,  —  with  here  and  there  abrig- 
antine  which  had  come  from  beyond  the  Pillars  of  Her- 
cules. Our  steamer  drew  into  her  berth  beside  the  quay, 
and  after  a  very  deliberate  review  by  the  port  physician  we 
were  allowed  to  land.  I  found  a  porter,  Arab  in  everything 
but  costume,  and  followed  him  through  the  water-gate  into 
the  half-awake  city.  My  destination  was  the  Inn  of  the 
"  Four  Nations,"  where  I  was  cordially  received,  and  after- 
wards roundly  swindled,  by  a  French  host.  My  first  de- 
mand was  for  a  native  attendant,  not  so  much  from  any  need 
of  guide  as  simply  to  become  more  familiar  with  the  people 
thiougli  him  ;  but  I  was  told  that  no  such  serviceable  spirit 
was  to  be  had  in  the  place.  Strangers  are  so  rare  that  a 
class  of  people  who  live  upon  them  has  not  yet  been  created 


BALEARtC   DAYS.  lit 

**  But  how  shall  I  find  the  Palace  of  the  Government,  or 
the  monastery  of  San  Domingo,  or  anything  else  ? "  J 
asked. 

"  0,  we  will  give  you  directions,  so  that  /ou  cannot  miss 
them,"  said  the  host ;  but  he  laid  before  me  such  a  confu- 
sion of  right  turnings  and  left  turnings,  ups  and  downs, 
that  I  became  speedily  bewildered,  and  set  forth,  deter- 
mined to  let  the  spirit  in  my  feet  guide  me.  A  labyrinthine 
place  is  Palma,  and  my  first  walks  through  the  city  were 
80  many  games  of  chance.  The  streets  are  very  narrow, 
changing  their  direction,  it  seemed  to  me,  at  every  tenth 
step ;  and  whatever  landmark  one  may  select  at  the  start 
is  soon  shut  from  view  by  the  high,  dark  houses.  At  first, 
I  was  quite  astray,  but  little  by  little  I  regained  the  lost 
points  of  the  compass. 

After  having  had  the  Phoenicians,  Greeks,  Carthagin- 
ians, Romans,  Vandals,  and  Saracens  as  masters,  Majorca 
was  first  made  Spanish  by  King  Jaime  of  Aragon,  the 
Conquistador,  in  the  year  1235.  For  a  century  after  the 
conquest  it  was  an  independent  kingdom,  and  one  of  its 
kings  was  slain  by  the  English  bowmen  at  the  battle  of 
Crecy.  The  Spanish  element  has  absorbed,  but  not  yet 
entirely  obliterated,  the  characteristics  of  the  earlier  races 
who  inhabited  the  island.  Were  ethnology  a  more  posi- 
tively developed  science,  we  might  divide  and  classify  this 
confused  inheritance  of  character :  as  it  is,  we  vaguely  feel 
the  presence  of  something  quaint,  antique,  and  unusual,  in 
walking  the  streets  of  Palma,  and  mingling  with  the  inhab- 
itents.  The  traces  of  Moorish  occupation  are  still  notice- 
able everywhere.  Although  the  Saracenic  architecture  no 
longer  exists  in  its  original  forms,  its  details  may  be  de- 
tected in  portals,  court-yards,  and  balconies,  in  almost 
every  street.  The  conquerors  endeavored  to  remodel  the 
city,  but  in  doing  so  they  preserved  the  very  spirit  which 
they  sought  to  destroy. 

My  wanderings,  after  all,  were   not  wholly  undirected 


170  BY-WAVS   OF   EUROPE. 

I  found  an. intelligent  guide,  who  was  at  the  same  time  an 
old  acquaintance.  The  whirligig  of  time  brings  about,  uof 
merely  its  revenges,  but  also  its  compensations  and  coincK 
dences.  Twenty-two  years  ago,  when  I  was  studying  Ger- 
man as  a  boy  in  the  old  city  of  Frankfort,  guests  from  the 
south  of  France  came  to  visit  the  amiable  family  with 
whom  I  was  residing.  They  were  M.  Laurens,  a  painter 
and  a  musical  enthusiast,  his  wife,  and  Mademoiselle  Ro« 
salba,  a  daughter  as  fair  as  her  name.  Never  shall  I  for- 
get the  curious  letter  which  the  artist  wrote  to  the  manager 
of  the  theatre,  requesting  that  Beethoven's  Fidelio  might 
be  given  (and  it  was !)  for  his  own  especial  benefit,  nor  the 
triumphant  air  with  which  he  came  to  us  one  day,  saying^ 
"  I  have  something  of  most  precious,"  and  brought  forth, 
out  of  a  dozen  protecting  envelopes,  a  single  gray  hair  from 
Beethoven's  head.  Nor  shall  I  forget  how  Madame  Lau- 
rens taught  us  French  plays,  and  how  the  fair  Rosalba 
declaimed  Andre  Ch^nier  to  redeem  her  pawns ;  but  I 
might  have  forgotten  all  these  things,  had  it  not  been  for 
an  old  volume  ^  which  turned  up  at  need,  and  which  gave 
me  information,  at  once  clear,  precise,  and  attractive,  con- 
cerning the  streets  and  edifices  of  Pal  ma.  The  round, 
solid  head,  earnest  eyes,  and  abstracted  air  of  the  painter 
came  forth  distinct  from  'the  limbo  of  things  overlaid  but 
never  lost,  and  went  with  me  through  the  checkered  blaze 
and  gloom  of  the  city. 

The  monastery  of  San  Domingo,  which  was  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Inquisition,  was  spared  by  the  progressive 
government  of  Mendizahal,  but  destroyed  by  the  people. 
Its  ruins  must  have  been  the  most  picturesque  sight  of 
Pal>na ;  but  since  the  visit  of  M.  Laurens  they  have  been 
removed,  and  their  broken  vaults  and  revealed  torture- 
chambers  are  no  longer  to  be  seen.     There  are,  however, 

1  8ouvmir$  d'un   Voyage  d  Art  a  flsle  de  Majorgue.    Par  J.  B.  Lan- 
nns. 


BALEARIC   DAY&.  177 

two  or  three  buildings  of  more  than  ordinary  interest.  The 
Casa  Const storial,  or  City  Hall,  is  a  massive  Palladian  pile 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  resembling  the  old  palaces  of 
Pisa  and  Florence,  except  in  the  circumstance  that  its 
roof  projects  at  least  ten  feet  beyond  the  front,  resting  on 
a  massive  cornice  of  carved  wood  with  curious  horizontal 
caryatides  in  the  place  of  brackets.  The  rich  burnt-sienna 
tint  of  the  carvings  contrasts  finely  with  the  golden-brown 
of  the  massive  marble  walls  —  a  combination  which  is 
shown  in  no  other  building  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
sunken  rosettes,  surrounded  by  raised  arabesque  borders, 
between  the  caryatides,  arc  sculptured  with  such  a  care- 
ful reference  to  the  distance  at  which  they  must  be  seen, 
that  they  appear  as  firm  and  delicate  as  if  near  the  spec- 
tator's eye. 

The  Cathedral,  founded  by  the  Conquistador,  and  built 
upon,  at  intervals,  for  more  than  three  centuries,  is  not  yet 
finished.  It  stands  upon  a  natural  platform  of  rock,  over- 
hanging the  sea,  where  its  grand  dimensions  produce  the 
greatest  possible  effect.  In  every  view  of  Palma,  it  towers 
solidly  above  the  houses  and  bastioned  walls,  and  insists 
upon  having  the  sky  as  a  background  for  the  light  Gothic 
pinnacles  of  its  flying  buttresses.  The  government  has 
recently  undertaken  its  restoration,  and  a  new  front  of 
very  admirable  and  harmonious  design  is  about  half  com- 
pleted. The  soft  amber-colored  marble  of  Majorca  is  en- 
riched in  tint  by  exposure  to  the'  air,  and  even  when  built 
in  large,  unrelieved  masses  retains  a  bright  and  cheerful 
character.  The  new  portion  of  the  cathedral,  like  the  old, 
has  but  little  sculpture,  except  in  the  portals ;  but  that 
little  is  so  elegant  that  a  greater  profusion  of  ornament 
would  seem  out  of  place. 

Passing  from  the  clear,  dazzling  day  into  the  interior,  one 
finds  himself,  at  first;  in  total  darkness ;  and  the  dimen- 
sions of  the  nave  —  nearly  three  hundred  feet  in  length 
by  one  hundred  and  forty  in  height  —  are  amplified  by  the 
12 


178  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

gloom.  The  wind,  I  was  told,  came  through  the  windows 
on  the  sea  side  with  such  force  as  to  overturn  the  clialices, 
and  blow  out  the  tapers  on  the  altar,  whereupon  every 
opening  was  walled  up,  except  a  rose  at  the  end  of  the 
chancel,  and  a  few  slits  in  the  nave,  above  the  sicWaisles. 
A  sombre  twilight,  like  that  of  a  stormy  day,  fills  the  edi- 
fice. Here  the  rustling  of  stoles  and  the  muttering  of 
prayers  suggest  incantation  rather  than  worship ;  the  or- 
gan has  a  hollow,  sepulchral  sound  of  lamentation ;  and 
there  is  a  spirit  of  mystery  and  terror  in  the  stale,  clammy 
air.  The  place  resembles  an  ante-chamber  of  Purgatory 
much  more  than  of  Heaven.  The  mummy  of  Don  Jaime 
IL,  son  of  the  Conquistador  and  first  king  of  Majorca,  is 
preserved  in  a  sarcophagus  of  black  marble.  This  is  the 
only  historic  monument  in  the  Cathedral,  unless  the  stran- 
ger chooses  to  study  the  heraldry  of  the  island  families 
from  their  shields  suspended  in  the  chapels. 

When  I  returned  to  the  "  Four  Nations  "  for  breakfast,  I 
found  at  the  table  a  gentleman  of  Palma,  who  invited  me 
to  sit  down  and  partake  of  his  meal.  For  the  first  time 
this  Spanish  custom,  which  really  seems  picturesque  and 
fraternal  when  coming  from  shepherds  or  muleteers  in  a 
mountain  inn,  struck  me  as  the  hollowest  of  forms.  The 
gentleman  knew  that  I  would  not  accept  his  invitation,  nor 
he  mine  ;  he  knew,  moreover,  that  I  knew  he  did  not  wish 
me  to  accept  it.  The  phrase,  under  such  conditions,  be- 
comes a  cheat  which  offends  the  sacred  spirit  of  hospitality. 
How  far  the  mere  form  may  go  was  experienced  by  George 
Sand,  who  having  accepted  the  use  of  a  carriage  most  ear- 
nestly offered  to  her  by  a  Majorcan  count,  found  the  equip- 
age at  her  door,  it  is  true,  but  with  it  a  letter  expressing 
80  much  vexation,  that  she  was  forced  to  withdraw  her  ac- 
ceptance of  the  favor  at  once,  and  to  apologize  for  it !  I 
have  always  found  much  hospitality  among  the  common 
people  of  Spain,  and  I  doub/  not  that  the  spirit  exists  in 
al]  classes ;    but  it  requires   some  practice  to  distinguish 


BALEARIC  DAYS.  179 

between  empty  phrase  and  the  courtesy  which  comes  from 
the  heart.  A  people  who  boast  of  some  special  virtue  gen- 
erally do  not  possess  it. 

My  own  slight  intercourse  with  the  Majorcans  was  very 
pleasant  On  the  day  of  my  arrival,  I  endeavored  to  pro- 
cure a  map  of  the  island,  but  none  of  the  bookstores  pos- 
sessed the  article.  It  could  be  found  in  one  house  in  a 
remote  street,  and  one  of  the  shopmen  finally  sent  a  boy 
with  me  to  the  very  door.  When  I  offered  money  for  the 
service,  my  guide  smiled,  shook  his  head,  and  ran  away. 
The  map  was  more  than  fifty  years  old,  and  drawn  in  the 
style  of  two  centuries  ago,  with  groups  of  houses  for  the 
villages,  and  long  files  of  conical  peaks  for  the  mountains. 
The  woman  brought  it  down,  yellow  and  dusty,  from  a 
dark  garret  over  the  shop,  and  seemed  as  delighted  with 
the  sale  as  if  she  had  received  money  for  useless  stock. 
In  the  streets,  the  people  inspected  me  curiously,  as  a 
stranger,  but  were  always  ready  to  go  out  of  their  way  to 
guide  me.  The  ground-floor  being  always  open,  all  the 
features  of  domestic  life  and  of  mechanical  labor  are  ex- 
posed to  the  public.  The  housewives,  the  masters  and 
apprentices,  busy  as  they  seem,  manage  to  keep  one  eye 
disengaged,  and  no  one  passes  before  them  without  notice. 
Cooking,  washing,  sewing,  tailoring,  shoemaking,  cooper- 
ing, rope  and  basket  making,  succeed  each  other,  as  one 
passes  through  the  narrow  streets.  In  the  afternoon,  the 
mechanics  frequently  come  forth  and  set  up  their  business 
in*  the  open  air,  where  they  can  now  and  then  greet  a  coun- 
try acquaintance,  or  a  city  friend,  or  sweetheart. 

When  I  found  that  the  ruins  of  San  Domingo  had  been 
removed,  and  a  statue  of  Isabella  II.  erected  on  the  Ala- 
meda, I  began  to  suspect  that  the  reign  of  old  things  was 
over  in  Majorca.  A  little  observation  of  the  people  made 
this  fact  more  evident.  The  island  costume  is  no  longer 
worn  by  the  young  men,  even  in  the  country ;  they  have 
passed   into  a  very  comica    transition   state.     Old  men. 


180  BY-WAYS  OP  EUROPE. 

mounted  on  lean  asses  or  mules,  still  enter  the  gates  of 
Palnia,  with  handkerchiefs  tied  over  their  shaven  crowns, 
and  long  gray  locks  falling  on  their  shoulders,  —  with 
short,  loose  jackets,  shawls  around  the  waist,  and  wide 
Turkish  trousers  gathered  at  the  knee.  Their  gaunt  brown 
legs  are  bare,  and  their  feet  protected  by  rude  sandals. 
Tall,  large-boned,  and  stern  of  face,  they  hint  both  of 
Vandal  and  of  Moslem  blood.  The  younger  men  are  of 
inferior  stature,  and  nearly  all  bow-legged.  They  have 
turned  the  flowing  trousers  into  modern  pantaloons,  the 
legs  of  which  are  cut  like  the  old-fashioned  gigot  sleeve, 
very  big  and  baggy  at  the  top,  and  tied  with  a  drawing- 
string  around  the  waist.  My  first  impression  was,  that  the 
men  had  got  up  in  a  great  hurry,  and  put  on  their  trousers 
hinder  end  foremost.  It  would  be  difficult  to  invent  a  cos- 
tume more  awkward  and  ungraceful  than  this. 

In  the  city  the  young  girls  wear  a  large  triangular  piece 
of  white  or  black  lace,  which  covers  the  hair,  and  tightly 
incloses  the  face,  being  fastened  under  the  chin  and  the 
ends  brought  down  to  a  point  on  the  breast.  Their  al- 
mond-shaped eyes  are  large  and  fine,  but  there  is  very  httle 
positive  beauty  among  them.  Most  of  the  old  country 
women  are  veritable  hags,  and  their  appearance  is  not  im- 
proved by  the  broad-brimmed  stove-pipe  hats  which  they 
wear.  Seated  astride  on  their  donkeys,  between  panniers 
of  produce,  they  come  in  daily  from  the  plains  and  moun- 
tains, and  you  encounter  them  on  all  the  roads  leading  out 
of  Palma.  Few  of  the  people  speak  any  other  language 
than  the  Mallorquin,  a  variety  of  the  Catalan,  which,  from 
the  frequency  of  the  terminations  in  ch  and  tz,  constantly 
suggests  the  old  Provencal  literature.  The  word  vitch 
(son)  is  both  Celtic  and  Slavonic.  Some  Arabic  terms 
are  also  retained,  though  fewer,  I  think,  than  in  Andalusia. 

In  the  afternoDn  I  walked  out  into  the  country.  The 
wall,  on  the  land  side,  which  is  very  high  and  massive,  is 
pierced  by  five  guarded  gates.     The  dry  moat,  both  wide 


BALEARIC  LAYS.  181 

and  deep,  is  spanned  by  wooden  bridges,  after  crossing 
which  one  has  the  choice  of  a  dozen  highways,  all  scantily 
shaded  with  rows  of  ragged  mulberry-trees,  glaring  white 
in  the  sun  and  deep  in  impalpable  dry  dust.  But  the 
sea-breeze  blows  freshening  across  the  parched  land  ;  shad- 
ows of  light  clouds  cool  the  arid  mountains  in  the  distance  ; 
the  olives  roll  into  silvery  undulations  ;  a  palm  in  full,  re- 
joicing pluuiage  rustles  over  your  head  ;  and  the  huge 
spatulate  leaves  of  a  banana  in  the  nearest  garden  twist 
and  split  into  fringes.  There  is  no  languor  in  the  air,  no 
sleep  in  the  deluge  of  sunshine ;  the  landscape  is  active 
with  signs  of  work  and  travel.  Wheat,  wine,  olives,  al- 
monds, and  oranges  are  produced,  not  only  side  by  side, 
but  from  the  same  fields,  and  the  painfully  thorough  sys- 
tem of  cultivation  leaves  not  a  rood  of  the  soil  unused, 

1  had  chosen,  at  random,  a  road  which  led  me  west 
toward  the  nearest  mountains,  and  in  the  course  of  an  hour 
T  found  myself  at  the  entrance  of  a  valley.  Solitary  farm- 
houses, each  as  massive  as  the  tower  of  a  fortress  and  of 
the  color  of  sunburnt  gold,  studded  the  heights,  overlook- 
ing the  long  slopes  of  almond  orchards.  I  looked  about 
for  water,  in  order  to  make  a  sketch  of  the  scene ;  but  the 
bed  of  the  brook  was  as  dry  as  the  highway.  The  nearest 
house  toward  the  plain  had  a  splendid  sentinel  palm  beside 
its  door,  —  a  dream  of  Egypt,  which  beckoned  and  drew 
me  towards  it  with  a  glamour  I  could  not  resist  Over  the 
wall  of  the  garden  the  orange-trees  lifted  their  mounds  of 
impenetrable  foliage  ;  and  the  blossoms  of  the  pomegran- 
ates, sprinkled  against  such  a  background,  were  like  coals 
of  fire.  The  fig-bearing  cactus  grew  about  the  house  in 
clumps  twenty  feet  high,  covered  with  pale-yellow  flowers. 
The  building  was  large  and  roomy,  with  a  court-yard, 
around  which  ran  a  shaded  gallery.  The  farmer  who  was 
issuing  therefrom  as  I  approached  wore  the  shawl  and 
Turkish  trousers  of  the  old  generation,  while  his  two  sous, 
reaping  in  the  adjoining  wheat-fields,  were  hideous  in  th« 


182  BT-WAYS   OF  EUBOPK. 

\ 
moderE  gigots.  Although  I  was  manifestly  an  intruder, 
the  oJd  man  greeted  me  respectfully,  and  passed  ol  to  hia 
work.  Three  boys  tended  a  drove  of  black  hogs  in  the 
stubble,  and  some  women  were  so  industriously  weeding 
and  hoeing  in  the  field  beyond,  that  they  scarcely  stopped 
to  cast  a  glance  upon  the  stranger.  There  was  a  grateful 
air  of  peace,  order,  and  contentment  about  the  place  ;  no 
one  seemed  to  be  suspicious,  or  even  surprised,  when  I 
seated  myself  upon  a  low  wall,  and  watched  the  laborers. 

The  knoll  upon  which  the  farm-house  stood  sloped  down 
gently  into  the  broad,  rich  plain  of  Palma,  extending  many 
a  league  to  the  eastward.  Its  endless  orchards  made  a 
dim  horizon-line,  over  which  rose  the  solitary  double-headed 
mountain  of  Felaniche,  and  the  tops  of  some  peaks  near 
Arta.  The  city  wall  was  visible  on  my  right,  and  beyond 
it  a  bright  arc  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  features  of  the 
landscape,  in  fact,  were  so  simple,  that  I  fear  I  cannot 
make  its  charm  evident  to  the  reader.  Looking  over  the 
nearer  fields,  I  observed  two  peculiarities  of  Majorca,  upon 
which  depends  much  of  the  prosperity  of  the  island.  The 
wheat  is  certainly,  as  it  is  claimed  to  be,  the  finest  of  any 
Mediterranean  land.  Its  large,  perfect  grains  furnish  a 
flour  of  such  fine  quality  that  the  whole  produce  of  the 
island  is  sent  to  Spain  for  Ihe  pastry  and  confectionery  of 
the  cities,  while  the  Majorcans  import  a  cheap,  inferior 
kind  in  its  place.  Their  fortune  depends  on  their  absti- 
nence from  the  good  things  which  Providence  has  given 
them.  Their  pork  is  greatly  superior  to  that  of  Spain,  and 
it  leaves  them  in  like  manner ;  their  best  wines  are  now 
bought  up  by  speculators  and  exported  for  the  fabrication 
of  sherry  ;  and  their  oil,  which  might  be  the  finest  in  the 
world,  is  so  injured  by  imperfect  methods  of  preservation 
that  it  might  pass  for  the  worst.  These  things,  however, 
give  them  no  annoyance.  Southern  races  are  sometimes 
indolent,  but  rarely  Epicurean  in  their  habits;  it  is  th« 
Northern  man  who  sighs  for  his  flesh-pots. 


BALEABIC  DATS.  188 

I  walked  forward  between  the  fields  towards  anothei 
road,  and  came  upon  a  tract  which  had  just  been  ploughed 
and  planted  for  a  new  crop.  The  soil  was  ridged  in  a 
labyrinthine  pattern,  which  appeared  to  ha\e  been  drawn 
with  square  and  rule.  But  more  remarkable  than  this  was 
the  difference  of  level,  so  slight  that  the  eye  could  not  pos- 
sibly detect  it,  by  which  the  slender  irrigating  streams 
were  conducted  to  every  square  foot  of  the  field,  without  a 
drop  being  needlessly  wasted.  The  system  is  an  inherit- 
ance from  the  Moors,  who  were  the  best  natural  engineers 
the  world  has  ever  known.  Water  is  scarce  in  Majorca, 
and  thus  every  stream,  spring,  rainfall  —  even  the  dew  of 
heaven  —  is  utilized.  Channels  of  masonry,  often  covered 
to  prevent  evaporation,  descend  from  the  mountains,  branch 
into  narrow  veins,  and  visit  every  farm  on  the  plain,  what- 
ever may  be  its  level.  Where  these  are  not  sufiicient,  the 
rains  are  added  to  the  reservoir,  or  a  string  of  buckets, 
turned  by  a  mule,  lifts  the  water  from  a  well.  But  it  is  in 
the  economy  of  distributing  water  to  the  fields  that  the 
most  marvelous  skill  is  exhibited.  The  grade  of  the  sur- 
face must  not  only  be  preserved,  but  the  subtle,  tricksy 
spirit  of  water  so  delicately  understood  and  humored  that 
the  streams  shall  traverse  the  greatest  amount  of  soil  with 
the  least  waste  or  wear.  In  this  respect,  the  most  skillful 
application  of  science  could  not  surpass  the  achievements 
of  the  Majorcan  farmers. 

Working  my  way  homeward  through  the  tangled  streets, 
I  was  struck  with  the  universal  sound  of  wailing  which 
filled  the  city.  All  the  tailors,  shoemakers,  and  basket- 
makers,  at  work  in  the  open  air,  were  singing,  rarely  in 
measured  strains,  but  with  wild,  irregular,  lamentable  cries, 
exactly  in  the  manner  of  the  Arabs.  Sometimes  the  song 
was  antiphoual,  flung  back  and  forth  from  the  furthest 
visible  corners  of  a  street ;  and  then  it  became  a  contest  of 
lungs,  kept  up  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  While  breakfasting, 
[  had  heard,  as  I  supposed,  a  miserere  chanted   by  some 


184  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

procession  of  monks,  and  wondered  when  the  doleful  strAim 
would  cease.  I  now  saw  that  they  came  from  the  mouthi 
of  some  cheerful  coopers,  who  were  heading  barrels  a  little 
further  down  the  street.  The  Majorcans  still  have  their 
troubadours,  who  are  hired  by  languishing  lovers  to  im- 
provise strains  of  longing  or  reproach  under  the  windows 
of  the  fair,  and  perhaps  the  latter  may  listen  with  delight ; 
but  I  know  of  no  place  where  the  Enraged  Musician  would 
so  soon  become  insane.  The  isle  is  full  of  noises,  and  a 
Caliban  might  say  that  they  hurt  not ;  for  me  they  mur- 
dered sleep,  both  at  midnight  and  at  dawn. 

I  had  decided  to  devote  my  second  day  to  an  excursion 
to  the  mountain  paradise  of  Valldemosa,  and  sallied  forth 
early,  to  seek  the  means  of  conveyance.  .  Up  to  this  time  I 
had  been  worried  —  tortured,  I  may  say,  without  exagger- 
ation —  by  desperate  efforts  to  recover  the  Spanish  tongue, 
which  I  had  not  spoken  for  fourteen  years.  I  still  had  the 
sense  of  possessing  it,  but  in  some  old  drawer  of  memory, 
the  lock  of  which  had  rusted  and  would  not  obey  the  key. 
Like  Mrs.  Dombey  with  her  pain,  I  felt  as  if  there  were 
Spanish  words  somewhere  in  the  room,  but  I  could  not 
positively  say  that  I  had  them  —  a  sensation  which,  as 
everybody  knows,  is  far  worse  than  absolute  ignorance.  I 
had  taken  a  carriage  for  "Valldemosa,  after  a  long  talk  with 
the  proprietor,  a  most  agreeable  fellow,  when  I  suddenly 
stopped,  and  exclaimed  to  myself,  "You  are  talking 
Spanish,  did  you  know  it?  "  It  was  even  so  :  as  much  of 
the  language  as  I  ever  knew  was  suddenly  and  unaccount- 
ably restored  to  me.  On  my  return  to  the  "  Four  Nations," 
I  was  still  further  surprised  to  find  myself  repeating  songs, 
without  the  failure  of  a  line  or  word,  which  I  had  learned 
from  a  Mexican  as  a  school-boy,  and  had  not  thought  of 
for  twenty  years.  The  unused  drawer  had  somehow  been 
unlocked  or  broken  open  while  I  slept. 

Valldemosa  is  about  twelve  miles  north  of  Palma,  in  th« 
heart  of  the  only  mountain-chain  of  the  island,  which  formi 


BALEARIC   DAYS.  186 

Hb  western,  or  rather  northwestern  coast  The  average 
altitude  of  these  mountains  will  not  exceed  three  thousand 
feet ;  but  the  broken,  abrupt  character  of  their  outlines,  and 
the  naked  glare  of  their  immense  precipitous  walls,  give 
them  that  intrinsic  grandeur  which  does  not  depend  on 
measurement.  In  their  geological  formation  they  resemble 
the  Pyrenees ;  the  rocks  are  of  that  palombino,  or  dove- 
colored  limestone,  so  common  in  Sicily  and  the  Grecian 
islands  —  pale  bluish  gray,  taking  a  soft  orange  tint  on  the 
faces  most  exposed  to  the  weather.  Rising  directly  from 
the  sea  on  the  west,  they  cease  almost  as  suddenly  on  the 
land  side,  leaving  all  the  central  portion  of  the  island  a 
plain,  slightly  inclined  toward  the  southeast,  where  occa- 
sional peaks  or  irregular  groups  of  hills  interrupt  its  mo- 
notony. 

In  due  time  my  team  made  its  appearance  —  an  omni- 
bus of  basket-work,  with  a  canvas  cover,  drawn  by  two 
horses.  It  had  space  enough  foi-  twelve  persons,  yet  was 
the  smallest  vehicle  I  could  discover.  There  appears  to  be 
nothing  between  it  and  the  two-wheeled  cart  of  the  peas- 
ant, which,  on  a  pinch,  carries  six  or  eight.  For  an  hour 
and  a  half  we  traversed  the  teeming  plain,  between  stacks 
of  wheat  worthy  to  be  laid  on  the  altar  at  Eleusis,  carob 
trees  with  their  dark,  varnished  foliage,  almond-orchards 
bending  under  the  weight  of  their  green  nuts,  and  the 
country  houses  with  their  garden  clumps  of  orange,  cactus, 
and  palm.  As  we  drew  near  the  base  of  the  mountains, 
olive-trees  of  great  size  and  luxuriance  covered  the  earth 
with  a  fine  sprinkle  of  shade.  Their  gnarled  and  knotted 
trunks,  a  thousand  years  old,  were  frequently  split  into 
three  or  four  distinct  and  separate  trees,  which  in  the  pro- 
cess assumed  forms  so  marvelously  human  m  their  distor- 
tion, that  I  could  scarcely  believe  them  to  be  accidental. 
Dor^  never  drew  anything  so  weird  and  grotesque.  Here 
were  two  club-headed  individuals  fighting,  with  interlocked 
knees,  convulsed  shoulders,  and  fists  full  of  each  other'i 


186  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBOPE. 

hair ;  yonder  a  bully  was  threatening  attack,  and  three 
cowards  appeared  to  be  running  away  from  him  with  such 
speed  that  they  were  tumbling  over  one  another's  heels. 
In  one  place  a  horrible  dragon  was  devouring  a  squirming, 
shapeless  animal ;  in  another,  a  drunken  man,  with  whirl- 
ing arms  and  tangled  feet,  was  pitching  forward  upon  his 
face.  The  living  wood  in  Dante  was  tame  beside  these 
astonishing  trees. 

We  now  entered  a  wild  ravine,  where,  nevertheless,  the 
mountain-sides,  sheer  and  savage  as  they  were,  had  suc- 
cumbed to  the  rule  of  man,  and  nourished  an  olive  or  a 
carob  tree  on  every  corner  of  earth  between  the  rocks 
The  road  was  built  along  the  edge  of  the  deep,  dry  bed  of 
a  winter  stream,  so  narrow  that  a  single  arch  carried  i 
from  side  to  side,  as  the  windings  of  the  glen  compelled. 
After  climbing  thus  for  a  mile  in  the  shadows  of  threaten- 
ing masses  of  rock,  an  amphitheatre  of  gardens,  enframed 
by  the  spurs  of  two  grand,  arid  mountains,  opened  before 
us.  The  bed  of  the  valley  was  filled  with  vines  and  or- 
chards, beyond  which  rose  long  terraces,  dark  with  orange 
and  citron  trees,  obelisks  of  cypress  and  magnificent  groups 
of  palm,  with  the  long  white  front  and  shaded  balconies 
of  a  hacienda  between.  ,  Far  up,  on  a  higher  plateau  be- 
tween the  peaks  I  saw  the  church-tower  of  Valldemosa 
The  sides  of  the  mountains  were  terraced  with  almost  in- 
credible labor,  walls  massive  as  the  rock  itself  being  raised 
to  a  height  of  thirty  feet,  to  gain  a  shelf  of  soil  two  or 
three  yards  in  breadth.  Where  the  olive  and  the  carob 
ceased,  box  and  ilex  took  possession  of  the  inaccessible 
points,  carrying  up  the  long  waves  of  vegetation  until  their 
foam-sprinkles  of  silver-gray  faded  out  among  the  highest 
clefts.  The  natural  channels  of  the  rock  were  straightened 
and  made  to  converge  at  the  base,  so  that  not  a  wandering 
cloud  could  bathe  th**  wild  growths  of  the  summit  without 
being  caught  and  hurried  into  some  tank  below.  The 
wilderness  was  forced,  by  pure  toil,  to  become  a  Paradise 


BALEARIC  DAYS.  187 

Efld  each  stubborn  feature,  which  toil  could  not  subdue, 
now  takes  its  place  as  a  contrast  and  an  ornament  in  the 
picture.  Verily,  there  is  nothing  in  all  Italy  so  beautiful 
as  Valldemosa ! 

Lest  I  should  be  thought  extravagant  in  my  delight,  let 
me  give  you  some  words  of  George  Sand,  which  I  have 
since  read.  "  I  have  never  seen,"  she  says,  ''  anything  so 
bright,  and  at  the  same  time  so  melancholy,  as  these  per- 
spectives where  the  ilex,  the  carob,  pine,  olive,  poplar,  and 
cypress  mingle  their  various  hues  in  the  hollows  of  the 
mountain  — abysses  of  verdure,  where  tjie  torrent  precipi- 
tates its  course  under  mounds  of  sumptous  richness  and 

an  inimitable  grace While  you  hear  the  sound 

of  the  sea  on  the  northern  coast,  you  perceive  it  only  as  a 
faint  shining  line  beyond  the  sinking  mountains  and  the 
great  plain  which  is  unrolled  to  the  southward  —  a  sub- 
lime picture,  framed  in  the  foreground  by  dark  rocks  cov- 
ered with  pines  ;  in  the  middle  distance  by  mountains  of 
boldest  outline,  fringed  with  superb  trees ;  and  beyond 
these  by  rounded  hills  which  the  setting  sun  gilds  with 
burning  colors,  where  the  eye  distinguishes,  a  league  away, 
the  microscopic  profile  of  trees,  fine  as  the  antennae  of 
butterflies,  black  and  clear  as  pen-drawings  of  India  ink  on 
a  ground  of  sparkling  gold.  It  is  one  of  those  landscapes 
which  oppress  you  because  they  leave  •nothing  to  be  desired, 
nothing  to  be  imagined.  Nature  has  here  created  that 
which  the  poet  and  the  painter  behold  in  their  dreams. 
An  immense  ensemble,  infinite  details,  inexhaustible  variety, 
blended  forms,  sharp  contours,  dim,  vanishing  depths  — 
all  are  present,  and  art  can  suggest  nothing  further. 
Majorca  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  countries  of  the  world 
for  the  painter,  and  one  of  the  least  known.  It  is  a  green 
Helvetia  under  the  sky  of  Calabria,  with  the  solemnity  and 
silence  of  the  Orient." 

The  village  of  Valldemosa  is  a  picturesque,  rambling 
place,  brown  witli  age,  and  buried  in  the  foliage  of  fig  and 


i88  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE* 

orange  trees.  The  highest  part  of  the  narrow  plateatt 
where  it  stands  is  crowned  by  the  church  and  monastery 
of  the  Trappists  (  Cartusa),  now  deserted.  My  coachman 
drove  under  the  open  roof  of  a  venta,  and  began  to  unhar- 
ness his  horses.  The  family,  who  were  dining  at  a  table  so 
low  that  they  appeared  to  be  sitting  on  the  floor,  gave  me 
the  customary  invitation  to  join  them,  and  when  I  asked 
for  a  glass  of  wine  brought  me  one  which  held  nearly  a 
quart.  I  could  not  long  turn  my  back  on  the  bright,  won- 
derful landscape  without ;  so,  taking  books  and  colors,  I 
entered  the  lonely-  cloisters  of  the  monastery.  Followed 
first  by  one  small  boy,  I  had  a  retinue  of  at  least  fifteen 
children  before  I  had  completed  the  tour  of  the  church, 
court-yard,  and  the  long  drawn,  shady  corridors  of  the 
silent  monks  ;  and  when  I  took  my  seat  on  the  stones  at 
the  foot  of  the  tower,  with  the  very  scene  described  by 
George  Sand  before  my  eyes,  a  number  of  older  persons 
added  themselves  to  the  group.  A  woman  brought  me  a 
chair,  and  the  children  then  planted  themselves  in  a  dense 
row  before  me,  while  1  attempted  to  sketch  under  such 
difficulties  as  I  had  never  known  before.  Precisely  be- 
cause I  am  no  artist,  it  makes  me  nervous  to  be  watched 
while  drawing  ;  and  the  remarks  of  the  young  men  on  this 
occasion  were  not  calculafed  to  give  me  courage. 

When  I  had  roughly  mapped  out  the  sky  with  its  few 
floating  clouds,  some  one  exclaimed,  "  He  has  finished  the 
mountains,  there  they  are  !  "  and  they  all  crowded  around 
me,  saying,  "  Yes,  there  are  the  mountains !  "  While  I 
was  really  engaged  upon  the  mountains,  there  was  a  violent 
discussion  as  to  what  they  might  be  ;  and  I  don't  know  how 
long  it  would  have  lasted,  had  I  not  turned  to  some 
cypresses  nearer  the  foreground.  Then  a  young  man  cried 
out :  "  O,  that's  a  cypress  !  I  wonder  if  he  will  make  them 
^11,  —  how  many  are  there  ?  One,  two,  three,  four,  five, — 
yes,  he  makes  five  ! "  There  was  an  immediate  rush,  shut^ 
ting  out  earth  and  heaven  from  my  sight,  and  they  aU 


BALEABIG  DATS.  189 

cried  in  chorus,  "One,  two,  three,  four,  fire  —  yes,  he  has 
made  five ! " 

"  Cavaliers  and  ladies,"  I  said,  with  solemn  politeness 
"  have  the  goodness  not  to  stand  before  me." 

"  To  be  sure  !  Santa  Maria !  How  do  you  think  he  can 
see  ?  "  yelled  an  old  woman,  and  the  children  were  hustled 
away.  But  I  thereby  won  the  ill-will  of  those  garlic- 
breathing  and  scratching  imps,  for  very  soon  a  shower  of 
water-drops  fell  upon  my  paper.  Next  a  stick,  thrown 
from  an  upper  window,  dropped  on  my  head,  and  n^ore 
than  once  my  elbow  was  intentionally  jogged  from  behind. 
The  older  people  scolded  and  threatened,  but  young 
Majorca  was  evidently  against  me.  I  therefore  made 
haste  to  finish  my  impotent  mimicry  of  air  and  light,  and 
get  away  from  the  curious  crowd. 

Behind  the  village  there  is  a  gleam  of  the  sea,  near,  yet 
at  an  unknown  depth.  As  I  threaded  the  walled  lanes 
seeking  some  point  of  view,  a  number  of  lusty  young  fel- 
lows, mounted  on  unsaddled  mules,  passed  me  with  a  cour- 
teous greeting.  On  one  side  rose  a  grand  pile  of  rock, 
covered  with  ilex-trees  —  a  bit  of  scenery  so  admirable, 
that  I  fell  into  a  new  temptation.  I  climbed  a  little  knoll 
and  looked  around  me.  Far  and  near  no  children  were  to 
be  seen  ;  the  portico  of  an  unfinished  house  offered  both 
shade  and  seclusion.  I  concealed  myself  behind  a  pillar, 
and  went  to  work.  For  half  an  hour  I  was  happy  ;  then  a 
round  black  head  popped  up  over  a  garden  wall,  a  small 
brown  form  crept  towards  me,  beckoned,  and  presently  a 
new  multitude  had  assembled.  'J'he  noise  they  made  pro- 
voked a  sound  of  cursing  from  the  interior  of  a  stable  ad- 
joining the  house.  They  only  made  a  louder  tumult  in 
answer ;  the  voice  became  more  threatening,  and  at  the 
end  of  five  minutes  the  door  burst  open.  An  old  man, 
with  wrath  flashing  from  his  eyes,  came  forth.  The  chil« 
dren  took  to  their  heels  ;  I  greeted  the  new-comer  politely, 
but   he  hardly  returned   the   salutation.     He  was  a  very 


190  BY-WAYS   OF  KUBOPE. 

fountain  of  curses,  and  now  hurled  stones  w'lti  flieni  aftei 
the  fugitives.  When  they  had  all  disappeared  behind  the 
walls,  he  went  back  to  his  den,  grumbling  and  muttering 
It  was  not  five  minutes,  however,  before  the  children  wero 
back  again,  as  noisy  as  before ;  so,  at  the  first  thunder  from 
the  stable,  I  shut  up  my  book,  and  returned  to  the  inn. 

While  the  horses  were  being  harnessed,  I  tried  to  talk 
with  an  old  native,  who  wore  the  island  costume,  and  was 
as  grim  and  grizzly  as  Ossawatomie  Brown.  A  party  of 
country  people  from  the  plains,  who  seemed  to  have  come 
up  to  Valldemosa  on  a  pleasure  trip,  clambered  into  a  two- 
wheeled  cart  drawn  by  one  mule,  and  drove  away.  My 
old  friend  gave  me  the  distances  of  various  places,  the 
state  of  the  roads,  and  the  quality  of  the  wine  ;  but  he 
seemed  to  have  no  conception  of  the  world  outside  of  the 
island.  Indeed,  to  a  native  of  the  village,  whose  fortune 
has  simply  placed  him  beyond  the  reach  of  want,  what  is 
the  rest  of  the  world  ?  Around  and  before  him  spreads 
one  of  its  loveliest  pictures ;  he  breathes  its  purest  air ; 
and  he  may  enjoy  its  best  luxuries,  if  he  heeds  or  knows 
how  to  use  them. 

Up  to  this  day  the  proper  spice  and  flavor  had  been 
wanting.  Palma  had  only  interested  me,  but  in  Vallde- 
mosa I  found  the  inspiration,  the  heat  and  play  of  vivid, 
keen  sensation,  which  one  (often  somewhat  unreasonably) 
expects  from  a  new  land.  As  my  carriage  descended, 
winding  around  the  sides  of  the  magnificent  mountain 
amphitheatre,  iu  the  alternate  shadows  of  palm  and  ilex, 
pine  and  olive,  I  looked  back,  clinging  to  every  marvelous 
picture,  and  saying  to  myself,  over  again,  "  I  have  not 
come  hither  in  vain."  When  the  last  shattered  gate  of 
rock  closed  behind  me,  and  the  wood  of  insane  olive- 
trunks  was  passed,  with  what  other  eyes  J  looked  upon  the 
rich  orchard-plain  !  It  had  now  become  a  part  of  one 
superb  whole ;  as  the  background  of  my  mountain  view,  it 
had  caught  a  new  glory,  and  still  wore  the  bloom  of  the  in 
visible  sea. 


BALEABIC  DAYS.  191 

In  the  evening  J  reached  the  "  Four  Nations,'*  ^here  I 
was  needlessly  invited  to  dinner  by  certain  strangers,  and 
dined  alone,  on  meats  cooked  in  rancid  oil.  When  the 
cook  had  dished  the  last  course,  he  came  into  a  room  ad- 
joining the  dining  apartment,  sat  down  to  a  piano  in  his 
white  cap,  and  played  loud,  long,  and  badly.  The  landlord 
had  papered  this  room  with  illustrations  from  all  the  period- 
icals of  Europe :  dancing-girls  pointed  their  toes  under 
cardinals'  hats,  and  bulls  were  baited  before  the  shrines  of 
saints.  Mixed  with  the  wood-cuts  were  the  landlord's  own 
artistic  productions,  wonderful  to  behold.  All  the  house 
was  proud  of  this  room,  and  with  reason  ;  for  there  is  as- 
suredly no  other  room  like  it  in  the  world.  A  notice  in 
four  languages,  written  with  extraordinary  flourishes,  an- 
nounced in  the  English  division  that  travellers  will  find 
•*  confortation  and  modest  prices."  The  former  advantage, 
I  discovered,  consisted  in  the  art  of  the  landlord,  the  music 
and  oil  of  the  cook,  and  the  attendance  of  a  servant  so 
distant  that  it  was  easier  to  serve  myself  than  seek  him  ; 
the  latter  may  have  been  "modest"  for  Palma,  but  in  any 
other  place  they  would  have  been  considered  brazenly  im- 
pertinent. I  should  therefore  advise  travellers  to  try  the 
"Three  Pigeons,"  in  the  same  street,  rather  than  the 
"  Four  Nations." 

The  next  day,  under  the  guidance  of  my  old  friend,  M. 
Laurens,  I  wandered  for  several  hours  through  the  streets* 
peeping  into  court-yards,  looking  over  garden-walls,  or 
idling  under  the  trees  of  the  Alameda.  There  are  no 
pleasant  suburban  places  of  resort,  such  as  are  to  be  found 
in  all  other  Spanish  cities  ;  the  country  commences  on  the 
other  side  of  the  moat.  Three  small  cafes  exist,  but  can- 
not be  said  to  flourish,  for  I  never  saw  more  than  one 
table  occupied.  A  theatre  has  been  built,  but  is  only  open 
during  the  winter,  of  course.  Some  placards  on  the  walls, 
however,  announced  that  the  national  (that  is,  Majorcan) 
diversion  of  baiting  bulls  with  dogs  would  be  given  in  a 
few  days. 


192  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

The  noblesse  appear  to  be  even  haughtier  than  in  Spain 
perhaps  on  account  of  their  greater  poverty ;  and  much 
more  of  the  feudal  spirit  lingers  among  them,  and  gives 
character  to  society,  than  on  the  main-land.  Each  family 
has  still  a  crowd  of  retainers,  who  perform  a  certam  amount 
of  service  on  the  estates,  and.  are  thenceforth  entitled  to 
support.  This  custom  is  the  reverse  of  profitable ;  but  it 
keeps  up  an  air  of  lordship,  and  is  therefore  retained. 
Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  the  new  portion  of  the  Ala- 
meda is  in  shadow,  and  swept  by  a  delicious  breeze  from 
the  sea,  it  begins  to  be  frequented  by  the  people  ;  but  I 
noticed  that  very  few  of  the  upper  class  made  their  ap- 
pearance. So  grave  and  sombre  are  these  latter,  that  one 
would  fancy  them  descended  from  the  conquered  Moors, 
rather  than  the  Spanish  conquerors. 

M.  Laurens  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  architecture  of 
Palma  cannot  be  ascribed  to  an  earlier  period  than  the 
beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century.  I  am  satisfied,  how- 
ever, either  that  many  fragments  of  Moorish  sculpture 
must  have  been  used  in  the  erection  of  the  older  buildings, 
or  that  certain  peculiarities  of  Moorish  art  have  been 
closely  imitated.  For  instance,  that  Moorish  combination 
of  vast,  heavy  masses  of  masonry  with  the  lightest  and 
airiest  style  of  ornamerft,  which  the  Gothic  sometimes  at- 
tempts, but  never  with  the  same  success,  is  here  found  at 
every  step.  I  will  borrow  ]\L  Laurens'  words,  descriptive 
of  the  superior  class  of  edifices,  both  because  I  can  find  no 
better  of  my  own,  and  because  this  very  characteristic  has 
been  noticed  by  him.  "  Above  the  ground-floor,"  he  says, 
"  there  is  only  one  story  and  a  low  garret.  The  entrance 
is  a  semi-circular  portal  without  ornament ;  but  the  num- 
ber and  dimensions  of  the  stones,  disposed  in  long  radii, 
give  it  a  stately  aspect.  The  grand  haHs  of  the  main  story 
are  lighted  by  windows  divided  by  excessively  slender 
columns,  which  are  entirely  Arabic  in  appearance.  This 
character  is  so  pronounced,  that  I  was  obliged  to  o\amine 


BALEARIC   DAYS.  19S 

aore  than  twc^ity  houses  constructed  in  the  same  manner, 
and  to  study  all  the  details  of  their  construction,  in  order 
to  assure  myself  that  the  windows  had  not  really  been 
taken  from  those  fairy  Moresque  palaces,  of  which  the  Al- 
hambra  is  the  only  remaining  specimen.  Except  in  Ma- 
jorca, I  have  nowhere  seen  columns  which,  with  a  height 
of  six  feet,  have  a  diameter  of  only  three  inches.  The 
fine  grain  of  the  marble  of  which  they  are  made,  as  well 
as  the  delicacy  of  the  capitals,  led  me  to  suppose  them  to 
be  of  Saracenic  origin." 

I  was  more  impressed  by  the  Lonja,  or  Exchange,  than 
any  other  building  in  Palma.  It  dates  from  the  first  half 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  when  the  kings  of  the  island  had 
built  up  a  flourishing  commerce,  and  expected  to  rival 
Genoa  and  Venice.  Its  walls,  once  crowded  with  merchants 
and  seamen,  are  now  only  opened  for  the  Carnival  balls 
and  other  festivals  sanctioned  by  religion.  It  is  a  square 
edifice,  with  light  Gothic  towers  at  the  corners,  displaying 
little  ornamental  sculpture,  but  nevertheless  a  taste  and 
symmetry,  in  all  its  details,  which  are  very  rare  in  Spanish 
architecture.  The  interior  is  a  single  vast  hall,  with  a 
groined  roof,  resting  on  six  pillars  of  exquisite  beauty. 
They  are  sixty  feet  high,  and  fluted  spirally  from  top  to 
bottom,  like  a  twisted  cord,  with  a  diameter  of  not  more 
than  two  feet  and  a  half  It  is  astonishing  how  the  airy 
lightness  and  grace  of  these  pillars  relieve  the  immense 
mass  of  masonry,  spare  the  bare  walls  the  necessity  of 
ornament,  and  make  the  ponderous  roof  light  as  a  tent. 
There  is  here  the  trace  of  a  law  of  which  our  modern  ar- 
chitects seem  to  be  ignorant.  Large  masses  of  masonry 
are  always  oppressive  in  their  effect ;  they  suggest  pain  and 
labor,  and  the  Saracens,  even  more  than  the  Greeks,  seem 
to  have  discovered  the  necessity  of  introducing  a  sportive, 
fanciful  element,  which  shall  express  the  delight  of  the 
workman  in  his  work. 

In  the  afternoon,  I  sallied  forth  from  the  western  coast 

13 


194  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

gate,  and  found  there,  sloping  to  the  shore,  a  village  inhab> 
ited  apparently  by  sailors  and  fishermen.  The  houses 
were  of  one  story,  flat-roofed,  and  brilliantly  whitewashed. 
Against  the  blue  background  of  the  sea,  with  here  and 
there  the  huge  fronds  of  a  palm  rising  from  among  them, 
they  made  a  truly  African  picture.  On  the  brown  ridge 
above  the  village  were  fourteen  huge  windmills,  nearly  all 
in  motion.  I  found  a  road  leading  along  the  brink  of  the 
overhanging  cliffs,  toward  the  castle  of  Belver,  whose  brown 
mediaeval  turrets  rose  against  a  gathering  thunder-cloud 
This  fortress,  built  as  a  palace  for  the  kings  of  Majorca 
immediately  after  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors,  is  now  a 
prison.  It  has  a  superb  situation,  on  the  summit  of  a  conical 
hill,  covered  with  umbrella-pines.  In  one  of  its  round, 
massive  cowers,  Arago  was  imprisoned  for  two  months  in 
1808.  He  was  at  the  time  employed  in  measuring  an  arc 
of  the  meridian,  when  news  of  Napoleon's  violent  meas- 
ures in  Spain  reached  Majorca.  The  ignorant  populace 
immediately  suspected  the  astronomer  of  being  a  spy  and 
political  agent,  and  would  have  lynched  him  at  once. 
Warned  by  a  friend,  he  disguised  himself  as  a  sailor,  es- 
caped on  board  a  boat  in  the  harbor,  and  was  then  placed 
in  Belver  by  the  authorities,  in  order  to  save  his  life.  He 
afterwards  succeeded  in  reaching  Algiers,  where  he  was 
seized  by  order  of  the  Bey,  and  made  to  work  as  a  slave. 
Few  men  of  science  have  known  so  much  of  the  romance 
of  Hfe. 

I  had  a  long  walk  to  Belver,  but  I  was  rewarded  by  a 
grand  view  of  the  Bay  of  Palma,  the  city  and  all  the  south- 
ern extremity  of  the  island.  I  endeavored  to  get  into  the 
fields,  to  seek  other  points  of  view ;  but  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  such  lofty  walls  that  I  fancied  the  owners  of 
the  soil  could  only  get  at  them  by  scaling-ladders.  The 
grain  and  trees  on  either  side  of  the  road  were  hoary  with 
dust,  and  the  soil,  of  the  hue  of  burnt  chalk,  seemed  never 
to  have  known  moisture.     But  while  I  loitered  on  the  cliffs 


BALEARIC  DAYS.  196 

lihe  cloud  in  the  west  had  risen  and  spread ;  a  cold  wind 
blew  over  the  hills,  and  the  high  gray  peaks  behind  Vail 
deinosa  disappeared,  one  by  one,  in  a  veil  of  rain.  A 
rough  tartana,  which  performed  the  service  of  an  omnibus, 
passed  me  returning  to  the  city,  and  the  driver,  having  no 
passengers,  invited  me  to  ride.  "What  is  your  fare?" 
I  asked.  "  Whatever  people  choose  to  give,"  said  he,  — 
which  was  reasonable  enough  ;  and  I  thus  reached  the 
"  Four  Nations  "  in  time  to  avoid  a  deluge. 

The  Majorcans  are  fond  of  claiming  their  island  as  the 
birthplace  of  Hannibal.  There  are  some  remains  supposed 
to  be  Carthaginian  near  the  town  of  Alcudia,  but,  singularly 
enough,  not  a  fragment  to  tell  of  the  Roman  domination, 
although  their  Balearis  Major  must  have  been  then,  as  now, 
a  rich  and  important  possession.  The  Saracens,  rather 
than  the  Vandals,  have  been  the  spoilers  of  ancient  art 
Their  religious  detestation  of  sculpture  was  at  the  bottom 
of  this  destruction.  The  Christians  could  consecrate  tlie 
old  temple  to  a  new  service,  and  give  the  names  of  saints 
to  the  statues  of  the  gods ;  but  to  the  Moslem  every  repre- 
sentation of  the  human  form  was  worse  than  blasphemy. 
For  this  reason,  the  symbols  of  the  most  ancient  faith,  mas- 
sive and  unintelligible,  have  outlived  the  monuments  of 
those  which  followed. 

In  a  forest  of  ancient  oaks  near  the  village  of  Arta, 
there  still  exist  a  number  of  Cyclopean  constructions,  the 
character  of  which  is  as  uncertain  as  the  date  of  their  erec- 
tion. They  are  cones  of  huge,  irregular  blocks,  the  jambs 
and  lintels  of  the  entrances  being  of  single  stones.  In  a 
few  the  opening  is  at  the  top,  with  rude  projections  resem- 
bling a  staircase  to  aid  in  the  descent.  Cinerary  urns  have 
been  found  in  some  of  them,  yet  they  do  not  appear  to 
have  been  originally  constructed  as  tombs.  The  Romans 
may  have  afterwards  turned  them  to  that  service.  In  the 
vicinity  there  are  the  remains  of  a  Druid  circle,  of  large 
upright  monoliths.    These  singular  structures  were  formerlj 


196  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

much  more  numerous,  the  people  (who  call  them  "  the  al 
tars  of  the  Gentiles  ")  having  destroyed  a  great  many  ig 
building  the  village  and  the  neighboring  farm-houses. 

I  heard  a  great  deal  about  a  cavern  on  the  eastern  coast 
of  the  island,  beyond  Arta.  It  is  called  the  Hermit's  Cave, 
and  the  people  of  Palma  consider  it  the  principal  thing  to 
be  seen  in  all  Majorca.  Their  descriptions  of  the  place, 
however,  did  not  inspire  me  with  any  very  lively  desire  to 
undertake  a  two  days'  journey  for  the  purpose  of  crawling 
on  the  belly  through  a  long  hole,  and  then  descending  a 
shaky  rope-ladder  for  a  hundred  feet  or  more.  When  one 
has  performed  these  feats,  they  said,  he  finds  himself  in  an 
immense  hall,  supported  by  stalactitic  pillars,  the  marvels 
of  which  cannot  bg  described.  Had  the  scenery  of  the 
eastern  part  of  the  island  been  more  attractive,  I  should 
have  gone  as  far  as  Arta ;  but  I  wished  to  meet  the  steamer 
Minorca  at  Alcudia,  and  there  were  but  two  days  remain- 
ing. 


BALEARIC  DAYS. 

II. 


The  same  spacious  omnibus  and  span  of  dun-colored 
ponies  which  ha.d  taken  me  to  Valldemosa  came  to  carry 
me  across  the  island.  As  there  is  an  excellent  highway, 
and  the  distance  to  Alcudia  is  not  more  than  ten  leagues, 
I  could  easily  have  made  the  journey  in  a  day ;  but  I  pur- 
posely divided  it,  in  order  to  secure  a  quiet,  unhurried  en- 
joyment of  the  scenery  of  the  interior.  It  had  rained 
violently  all  night,  and  the  morning  of  my  departure  from 
Palma  was  cold  and  overcast.  The  coachman  informed 
me  that  four  months  had  elapsed  since  a  drop  of  rain  had 
fallen,  and  that  for  two  years  past  the  island  had  suffered 
from  drought.  1  dierelore  wrapped  myself  in  my  cloak, 
contented  with  the  raw  air  and  threatening  sky,  since  the 
dry  acequias  would  now  flow  with  new  streams,  and  the 
empty  tanks  of  the  farmers  be  filled. 

It  was  like  a  rainy  day  in  the  tropics.  There  was  a  gray 
veil  9.11  over  the  sky,  deepening  into  blackness  where  the 
mountains  drew  down  the  showers.  The  soil,  yesterday 
as  dry  as  a  cinder,  already  looked  soggy  and  drenched, 
and  in  place  of  white,  impalpable  dust,  puddles  of  water 
covered  the  road.  For  the  first  two  leagues  we  drove 
over  a  dead  level,  seeing  nothing  but  fig,  olive,  and  almond 
trees,  with  an  occasional  palm  or  cactus,  fading  out  of  sight 
in  the  rain.  Majorca  is  in  reality  the  orchard  of  the  Med- 
iteranean.  All  its  accessible  surface  is  not  only  covered 
with  fruit-trees,  but  the  fruit  is  of  the  most  exquisite  qual- 
ity. The  apricots  are  not  dry  and  insipid,  but  full  of 
juice,  and  with  a  flavor  as  perfect  as  that  of  a  peach.  The 
oranges  and  figs  seemed  to  me  the  finest  I  had  ever  tasted ; 
even  the  date-palm  matures  its  fruit,  and  the  banana  grows 


200  BY-WAYS   Or'  EUROPE. 

in  the  same  garden  with  the  cherry  and  apple.  The  vallej 
of  Seller,  the  only  port  on  the  western  side  of  the  moun- 
tains, was  described  to  me  as  one  unbroken  orchard  of 
superb  orange-trees,  a  league  or  two  in  length.  The  diffi- 
culty of  transportation  has  hitherto  robbed  the  people  of 
the  profits  of  their  production,  and  a  new  prosperity  has 
come  with  the  recent  improvement  of  their  roads.  Within 
a  league  of  Palma  an  entire  village  has  been  built  within 
the  last  five  years ;  and  most  of  the  older  towns  are  in 
rapid  process  of  enlargement. 

After  the  second  league,  the  country  became  undulating, 
the  trees  were  loftier  and  more  luxuriant,  and  woods  of 
picturesque  Italian  pine  covered  the  rocky  crests  of  the 
hills.  The  mountains  on  the  left  assumed  very  bold  and 
violent  forms,  rising  through  the  dim  atmosphere  like  so 
many  detached  towers  and  fortresses.  There  were  two 
dominant  peaks,  which  in  the  sheer  escarpment  of  their 
summits  resembled  the  crags  of  Konigstein  and  Lilienstein 
in  Saxony.  They  were  the  Torrella  and  the  Puig  (Peak) 
Major  —  grand,  naked,  almost  inaccessible  mountains, 
which  shed  the  rain  like  a  roof  The  water-courses  which 
came  down  from  them  were  no  longer  dry  hollows,  but 
filled  to  the  brim  with  swift,  roaring,  turbid  floods.  These 
peaks  appeared  to  be'  detached  nearly  to  the  base,  and 
between  their  steep  abutments  the  mouths  of  dim,  folding 
gorges  gave  promise  of  rare  and  original  scenery  within 
their  recesses. 

We  passed  Santa  Maria,  a  beautiful  little  village  of  two 
streets,  at  the  intersection  of  which  rises  a  fine  square 
belfry,  connected  with  the  buildings  of  a  defunct  monas- 
tery. The  picture  was  so  pleasant  that  I  brought  its  out- 
lines away  with  me.  In  spite  of  the  rain,  the  people  were 
at  work  in  the  fields,  turning  the  red  soil  about  the  roots 
of  the  olive-trees.  The  flowing  trousers  were  no  longer  to 
be  seen  ;  even  the  old  men  here  wore  the  gigot.  Others, 
with  the  words  Peon  caminero  on  their  caps,  were  breaking 


BALEARIC  DAYS.  201 

stones  by  the  roadside.  I  received  a  friendlj  Bon  rft*.' 
from  each  and  all.  Both  robbery  and  beggar^'  are  un- 
known in  Majorca ;  they  have  no  place  in  a  iand  of  so 
much  material  order  and  cheerful  industry. 

Beyond  Santa  Maria  the  road  again  became  quite  level, 
and  the  courses  of  the  streams  pointed  to  the  northern 
shore.  The  fruit-trees  temporarily  gave  place  to  vineyards 
so  luxuriant  that  the  shoots,  unsupported  by  stake  or  trel- 
lis, threw  their  tendrils  around  each  other,  and  hid  the  soil 
under  a  deluge  of  green.  The  wine  of  Benisalem  (Arabic 
beni-salaam,  •'  the  children  of  peace  ")  is  considered  thie 
best  on  the  island.  It  is  a  fiery,  golden-brown  vintage, 
resembling  ripe  old  Malaga  in  flavor. 

We  were  within  a  league  of  Inca,  —  my  destination,  — 
when  the  rain,  which  had  already  blotted  out  the  moun- 
tains, began  to  drive  over  the  plain.  A  fine  spray  beat 
through  the  canvas  cover  of  the  omnibus,  condemning  me 
to  a  blind,  silent,  and  cheerless  half-hour  of  travel.  Then, 
between  garden-walls,  over  which  the  lemon-trees  hung 
great  boughs  breaking  with  fruit,  and  under  clumps  of 
rustling  and  dripping  palms,  I  entered  Inca.  My  equipage 
drew  up  before  the  door  of  a  new  J'onda  in  a  narrow  old 
street.  There  were  billiards  and  coffee  on  the  ground- 
floor  ;  over  them  a  long  hall,  out  of  which  all  the  doors  and 
staircases  issued,  served  as  a  dining-room.  The  floors  were 
tiled,  the  walls  white-washed  and  decorated  with  the  litho- 
graphed histories  of  Mazeppa  and  Hernan  Cortez.  and  the 
heavy  pine  joists  of  the  ceiling  were  fresh  and  unpainted. 
There  was  an  inconsiderate  waste  of  space  in  the  disposi- 
tion of  the  rooms  and  passages  which  was  pleasant  to  be- 
hold. Contrary  to  the  usual  habit  of  travellers,  I  ventured 
into  Ihe  kitchen,  and  found  it — as  it  ought  to  be  —  the 
most  cheerful  and  attractive  part  of  the  house.  The  land- 
lord brought  a  glass  of  the  wine  of  Benisalem  to  stay  my 
hunger  ;  but  I  was  not  obliged  to  wait  overlong  for  the 
excellent  meal  of  eggs,  kid  with  pepper-sauce,  and  an  ex- 


202  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

quisite  dish  of  lobster  stewed  with  leeks  and   tomatoes, 
which  I  tasted  for  the  first  time. 

Towards  evening  the  rain  subsided,  and  I  went  forth 
to  view  the  place,  finding  a  picture  at  every  turn.  First, 
a  group  of  boys  burning  shavings  before  a  church-door ; 
then  a  gable  embowered  with  one  enormous  grape-vine, 
and  touched  with  sunshine,  while  beneath,  in  the  gloom  of 
a  large  arch,  the  family  ate  their  supper ;  then  a  guitar- 
player  in  the  door  of  a  barber's  shop,  with  a  group  around 
him,  or  a  company  of  women,  filling  their  jars  at  a  foun- 
tain. The  town  is  built  upon  an  irregular  hill,  overlooking 
the  finest  orchards  of  Majorca.  The  clusters  of  palm- 
trees  which  spring  from  its  topmost  gardens  are  far  more 
beautiful  than  its  church-towers.  Nothing  can  be  more 
picturesque  than  the  narrow  valleys  on  either  side,  which 
slope  sufficiently  to  bring  out  in  sumptuous  contrast  the 
foliage  of  the  terraced  gardens.  The  people  looked  at  me 
curiously,  but  with  no  unfriendly  air,  as  I  followed  the 
winding  streets  into  the  country,  or  loitered  through  some 
country  lane  back  into  the  town.  Only  two  persons  spoke 
to  me  —  the  letter-carrier,  and  a  boy  who  was  trying  to 
knock  down  swallows  with  a  long  pole.  The  latter  made 
a  remark  which  I  did  not  understand,  but  it  was  evidently 
witty,  for  we  both  laughed.  The  workmen  at  their  avoca- 
tions sang  with  all  their  force,  and  very  dismally.  It  was 
difficult  to  say  which  were  the  more  insignificant  —  the 
melodies  or  the  words  of  their  songs.  One  specimen  of 
the  latter  will  suffice  to  give  an  idea  of  both :  — 

"  On  Sunda3'8  the  young  girls  you  may  view, 
(Since  they  nothing  better  have  then  to  do), 
Watering  their  pots  of  carnations  sweet: 
Saying,  Drink,  m}-  dears,  for  you  cannot  eat!  " 

When  I  returned  to  the  fonda,  the  landlord  took  me  into 
a  part  of  his  house  which  was  built  like  a  tower  above  the 
level  of  the  city  roofs.  A  thunderous  mass  of  clouds  still 
hung  over  the  Puig  Major,  but  between  its  rifls  the  low 


BALEARIC   DAYS.  208 

/mo  cast  long  lines  of  brassy  radiance  over  the  wide  land- 
scape. Westward  rose  the  torn  and  shattered  mountains ; 
eastward  the  great  orchard-plain  stretched  away  into  pur- 
ple dimness,  only  broken  by  the  chapel-crowned  peak  of 
Santa  Maddalena,  near  at  hand,  and  the  signal  mountain 
of  Felaniche  in  the  distance.  Inca,  under  my  feet,  re- 
sounded with  wailing  noises,  which,  nevertheless,  expressed 
the  cheerfulness  and  content  of  the  inhabitants.  Through 
the  lanes  dividing  the  rich  vegetation,  the  laborers  were 
flocking  homeward  from  their  fields  ;  rude  tartanas  rat- 
tled along  the  broad  white  highway  ;  and  the  chimes  of 
vesper  presently  floated  over  the  scene  in  slow,  soothing 
vibrations.  "  You  see  how  beautiful  the  country  is  !  "  said 
the  landlord ;  "  I  suppose  there  is  nothing  finer  in  the 
world.  You  will  think  so  too,  when  you  have  been  to  the 
cemetery,  and  have  seen  the  new  monument.  It  is  won- 
derful !  A  basket  full  of  flowers,  and  if  they  were  not  all 
white,  you  would  take  them  to  be  real.  They  say  it  cost 
an  immense  amount  of  money." 

When  I  asked  for  j'uevos  (eggs)  for  my  suppe'  *he  land- 
lady shook  her  head,  until  somebody  suggestedjoaos  /  with 
a  sound  like  the  whistling  of  wind  through  a  keyhole. 
They  were  then  speedily  forthcoming,  with  another  dish  of 
the  lobster  and  leeks,  and  a  bottle  of  excellent  wine.  I 
was  kept  awake  for  a  long  time,  that  night,  by  the  thrum- 
ming of  guitars  and  the  click  of  billiard  balls  in  the  caf^ 
below  ;  and  when  sleep  finally  came,  it  was  suddenly  broken 
by  the  bursting  open  of  the  doors  and  windows  of  my  room. 
The  house  seemed  to  rock  under  the  stress  of  the  hurri- 
cane ;  the  lightning  played  through  the  torrents  of  rain  in 
rapid  flashes  of  transparent  silver,  accompanied  with  peals 
like  the  crashing  down  of  all  the  Puigs  in  the  mountain- 
chain.  But  at  sunrise,  when  I  went  upon  the  roof,  I  found 
the  island  sparkling  under  the  purest  of  morning  skies, 
every  leaf  washed,  every  outline  of  the  landscape  recut 
and   all  its   colors   bright  as   if  newly  dyed.     A  bracing 


204  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

north  wind  blew  over  the  fields,  and  there  was  an  exprefr 
sion  of  joy  in  the  very  dance  of  the  boughs  and  the  waving 
of  the  vines. 

When  we  set  out  for  Alcudia,  the  coachman  first  drove 
to  a  fountain  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  watered  his  horses. 
There  was  a  throng  about  the  place,  —  old  women  with 
huge  earthen  amphorae,  young  girls  with  jars  which  they 
carried  on  the  hip,  donkeys  laden  with  casks,  and  children 
carrying  all  sorts  of  smaller  vessels.  The  water  is  brought 
from  the  mountains  to  this  fountain,  which  never  fails  in 
its  supply.  It  is  shaded  by  grand  old  plane  and  carob 
trees,  which  throw  a  network  of  light  and  gloom  over  the 
great  stone  tanks  and  the  picturesque  moving  crowds. 
Rising  out  of  the  glen  where  it  stands,  I  saw  the  mountains 
bare  in  the  morning  sun,  every  crevice  and  jag  of  their 
rocky  fronts  painted  with  a  pre-Raphaelite  pencil.  Past 
tiie  foot  of  the  solitary  mountain  of  Santa  Maddalena  ran 
our  road,  and  then  northward  over  a  second  plain,  even 
richer  than  that  of  Palma. 

The  olive  and  almond  trees  by  the  roadside  had  been 
washed  clean  of  dust,  but  they  hissed  in  the  breeze  as  dryly 
as  if  they  had  never  known  rain.  The  very  colors  of  the 
olive,  ilex,  and  myrtle  express  aridity.  Their  dry  leaves 
seem  to  repel  moisture,  even  as  the  mellow,  sappy  green  of 
the  North  seems  to  attract  it.  But  their  soft  grays  relieve 
the  keen,  strong  tints  of  soil,  sea,  and  sky,  and  we  could  ill 
spare  them  from  these  landcapes.  As  accessories  to  sun- 
browned  houses,  or  masses  of  ruined  architecture,  they  are 
invaluable.  They  belong  naturally  to  an  atmosphere  of  age 
and  repose,  while  fresh  turf  and  deciduous  trees  perpetually 
reproduce  the  youth  of  Nature.  Something  of  Attica  al- 
ways comes  to  me  with  the  olive,  something  of  Tusculum 
and  the  Sabine  Farm  with  the  ilex.  The  box,  I  know  not 
why,  suggests  the  Euphrates ;  and  the  myrtle  in  bloom,  the 
Garden  of  Eden. 

While   these  thoughts  were  passing  through  my  mind, 


BALEARIC  DATS.  206 

liie  road  slowly  feL  to  the  northward  ;  and  I  beheld  in  the 
distance  fields  of  a  green  so  dazzling  rnat  the  hackneyed 
term  "  emerald  "  seems  much  too  dull  to  express  it.  It 
positively  himed  in  the  sun,  drawing  into  itself  the  lustre 
of  the  sky,  the  distant  sea.  and  the  leagues  of  glittering 
foliage.  Over  it  rose,  as  a  completer  foil,  the  gray  moun- 
tains of  the  peninsula  dividing  the  bays  of  Pollenza  and 
Alcudia.  I  was  at  a  loss  to  guess  what  plant  could  give 
such  an  indescribable  color ;  and  not  until  we  were  within 
a  stone's  throw  did  I  recognize  the  leaves  of  hemp.  An 
open,  marshy  plain,  entirely  bare  of  trees,  bordered  the  bay 
at  this  point.  The  splendid  orchards  ceased  ;  the  road 
crossed  some  low  hills  overgrown  with  ilex  and  pine,  a 
turbid,  roaring  stream,  with  poplars  on  its  banks ;  and  then 
a  glimmer  of  the  sea  on  either  hand  showed  that  we  had 
reached  the  peninsula.  There  were  Moorish  atalayas,  oi 
watch-towers,  on  the  summits  nearest  the  sea,  and  a  large 
mined  fortress  of  the  Middle  Ages  on  a  hill  inland. 
Alcudia.  with  its  yellow  walls,  its  cypress  and  palm  trees, 
now  appeared  at  the  foot  of  the  barren  heights,  oriental  in 
every  feature.  It  was  a  picture  from  the  Syrian  coast, 
needing  only  the  old  Majorcan  costume  for  the  laborers  in 
the  fields  to  be  perfect. 

Contrasted  with  those  parts  of  the  island  which  I  had 
seen,  the  coimtry  appeared  singularly  lonely  and  deserted. 
Few  persons  met  us  on  the  road,  and  we  passed  none  on 
their  way  to  the  town.  Grass  grew  on  the  huge  walls  of 
defense,  the  stones  were  slipping  from  the  arch  of  the  gate- 
way, and  we  passed  into  a  silent  street  without  seeing  a  liv- 
ing thing.  INIy  coachman  stopped  before  a  mean-looking 
house,  with  no  sign  or  other  indication  of  its  character,  and 
informed  me  that  it  was  the  only  fonda  in  the  place.  A 
woman  who  came  to  the  door  confirmed  this  statement, 
modestly  adding.  '*  We  are  not  very  fine,  but  we  will  give 
you  what  we  have."  A  narrow  room  on  the  ground-floor 
was  at  once    entrance-hall,  dining-room,  and  kitchen  ;    il 


206  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

contained  one  table,  three  chairs,  much  dirt,  and  very  nim* 
ble  inserts.  The  inmates  were  two  women,  and  a  small 
dog  with  a  bell  on  his  neck,  which,  whenever  he  scratched 
his  head  with  his  hind  foot,  rang  a  peal  of  alarm  through 
the  house.  Feeling  the  need  of  consolation,  I  summoned 
a  boy  from  the  street,  and  gave  him  some  money  to  bring 
me  cigars  from  the  estanco  ;  but  the  hostess,  taking  the 
coin,  cried  out  in  great  excitement :  "  Don't  send  that ! 
Holy  Mother,  don't  send  that !  You'll  lose  a  'chavo  on 
it !  "  The  coachman  burst  into  a  laugh,  repeating,  "  Lose 
a  'chavo  !  "  —  which  is  about  the  eighth  part  of  a  cent ;  but 
the  woman  was  so  horrified  at  the  idea  that  I  gave  the  boy 
another  coin. 

While  the  eggs  and  tough  scraps  of  beef  destined  for 
my  meal  were  simmering  in  pans  of  strong  oil,  the  hostess 
conducted  me  into  a  room  above,  which  contained  a  large 
and  very  ancient  bed,  five  blue  chests,  and  twenty-three 
pictures  of  saints.  "  There  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  a  wave 
of  the  arm  and  a  look  of  triumph,  "  my  own  room,  but  you 
shall  have  it !  We  may  not  be  very  fine,  but  we  give  what 
we  have."  Whatever  my  thoughts  may  have  been,  it  was 
quite  impossible  to  avoid  expressing  my  entire  satisfaction. 

I  took  my  books,  went  outside  the  walls  to  a  tower  which 
I  had  noticed  on  the  ridge,  and  there  found  the  very  view 
of  the  town,  the  mountains,  and  the  bay,  which  a  stranger 
would  desire  to  take  home  with  him.  In  the  full  noonday 
sunshine,  there  was  scarcely  shadow  enough  to  relieve  the 
clear  golden  tints  of  the  landscape  ;  but  the  place  was  en- 
tirely deserted,  which  was  a  better  fortune  than  I  enjoyed 
at  Valldemosa.  Three  peasants  were  reaping  wheat  in  a 
little  field  behind  the  tower ;  now  and  then  a  donkey  and 
rider  jogged  slowly  along  the  distant  highway  ;  but  no  one 
seemed  to  notice  the  mysterious  stranger.  I  had  an  undis< 
turbed  dream  of  two  hours,  for  the  forms  before  me,  half 
borrowed  from  my  memories  of  Oriental  life,  half  drawn 
from  those  landscapes  which  rise  in  our  minds  as  we  read 


BALEARIC  DAYS.  207 

die  stories  of  the  Middle  Ages,  satisfied  both  the  eye  and 
the  fancy.  Some  scenes  suggest  the  sound  of  a  flute  and 
Theocritan  idyls ;  others,  horns  and  trumpets,  and  frag 
ments  of  epic  poetry  ;  but  here  the  only  accompaniment 
was  cymbals,  the  only  poems  suggested  were  "  Fatima 
and  "  Rudel  to  the  Lady  of  Tripoli." 

In  the  afternoon  I  walked  around  the  city  walls,  climbed 
upon  them,  visited  the  deserted  monastery  of  San  Diego, 
and  wandered  at  will  through  its  picturesque  ruins.  The 
place  is  surrounded  by  double  walls  of  great  strength, 
divided  by  a  moat  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock.  The  caper- 
plant,  the  ivy,  and  the  wild  fig-tree  have  taken  possession 
of  the  parapet  and  the  rifts  between  the  stones,  goats 
browse  in  the  bottom  of  the  moat,  and  children's  faces 
peep  forth  from  the  watch-towers  on  the  ramparts.  Out- 
side the  principal  gate,  I  came  upon  a  Gothic  cross,  rest- 
ing on  an  octagonal  base,  so  very  old  and  weather-beaten 
that  it  must  certainly  have  been  erected  during  the  first 
years  of  the  conquest.  The  walls  of  the  city  are  said  to  be 
Saracenic ;  but  the  people  are  poor  authority  on  this  or 
any  other  historical  point.  It  is  certain,  at  least,  that 
Alcudia  was  formerly  much  more  important  than  now.  Its 
bay  was  a  naval  station,  whence  expeditions  were  sent  out 
to  Africa  or  the  Levant ;  and  there  were  times  when  the 
kings  of  Spain  built  whole  fleets  from  the  forests  of  the 
island. 

Of  late,  a  little  fresh  life  has  begun  to  flow  into  the  silent 
old  town.  On  the  shore  of  the  bay,  a  few  miles  off",  an 
English  company  has  undertaken  agricultural  operations 
on  a  grand  scale.  Many  square  leagues  of  the  former  use- 
less, pestiferous  marshes  have  been  drained,  steam-engines 
erected  to  supply  water  for  irrigation,  and  an  attempt  made 
to  cultivate  cotton.  Concerning  the  success  of  the  under- 
taking, I  heard  the  most  contradictory  accounts.  The 
people  could  only  tell  me  of  the  immense  sums  expended, 
—  sums  which  appeared  almost  fabulous  to  them.     The 


208  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

agents,  of  course,  claimed  to  be  entirely  successful,  not 
withstanding  the  cotton-plants,  this  year,  will  scarcelj  pro- 
duce enough  to  pay  for  the  seed.  Last  year  (1866),  (  wis 
informed,  the  yield  was  very  fine:  the  staple  being  equal  le 
that  of  our  Sea-island  cotton.  The  intention  of  the  Eng- 
lish capitalists  was  probably  to  produce  a  similar  article, 
and  it  cannot  be  denied  that  they  have  shrewdly  chosen 
the  spot  for  the  experiment. 

When  the  afternoon  shadow  filled  the  street,  I  seated 
myself  at  the  door  of  the  fonda,  and  amused  myself  with 
the  movements  of  some  carpenters  in  an  opposite  shop. 
Two  lusty  apprentices  were  engaged  in  the  slow  labor  of 
sawing  beams  into  boards,  while  the  master  fitted  together 
the  parts  of  a  door.  The  former  used  an  upright  saw,  one 
standing  on  a  frame  overhead,  and  the  other  on  the  floor 
below ;  they  were  just  an  hour  and  a  half  in  sawing  five 
boards  from  a  beam  a  foot  wide  and  sixteen  feet  long. 
Whenever  a  neighbor  dropped  in  to  gossip  with  the  master, 
the  saw  stopped,  and  the  apprentices  took  an  active  part 
in  the  conversation.  There  was  also  a  boy  of  twelve  years 
old,  who  did  no  work  except  in  the  way  of  singing.  With 
his  head  thrown  back,  and  his  mouth  open  to  its  fullest  ex- 
tent, he  poured  forth  an  endless  succession  of  piercing  cries, 
recommencing,  at  the  end  of  each  lamentable  close  of  the 
measure,  with  a  fury  and  frenzy  which  nearly  drove  me 
wild.  The  little  dog  in  the  fonda,  from  time  to  time,  rang 
a  suggestive  peal  upon  his  bell,  and  echoes  from  other 
streets,  and  distant  bells  from  other  tormented  dogs,  filled 
up  the  pauses  of  the  performance. 

At  sunset  the  other  inmates  of  the  fonda  began  to  collect. 
First,  there  arrived  two  French  workmen,  of  mean  aspect ; 
then  a  Spanish  cavalier,  who  was  evidently  a  person  of  some 
importance,  for  he  invited  nobody  to  partake  of  his  supper. 
He  was  a  large,  olive-colored  man,  with  a  loud  voice  and 
opaque  gray  eyes,  in  which,  as  he  fixed  them  upon  my  face, 
I  read  the  question,  "  Are  you  not  going  to  salute  me  ?  "    I 


BALEAfilG  DATS.  20S 

returned  the  look,  and  my  eyes  answered,  "  Who  art  thou, 
that  I  should  salute  thee  ? "  After  these  remarks,  »yhicb 
both  understood,  we  spoke  no  more.  Several  natives  came, 
during  the  evening,  to  be  paid  for  some  service ;  but  they 
received  no  money.  The  two  Frenchmen  supped  with  the 
hostess  and  her  family,  but  the  important  Spaniard  and 
myself  had  our  meals  apart.  Finally  the  comedy  became 
tiresome,  and  I  went  to  bed. 

Not  to  sleep,  alas !  The  little  dog's  bell  was  silent 
through  the  night,  but  had  there  been  one  around  my  neck 
it  would  have  chimed  the  quarter-hours  without  a  single 
failure.  The  steamer  for  Minorca  was  expected  in  the  bay 
at  sunrise ;  so  I  arose  with  the  first  stir  in  the  house,  and 
found  two  gentlemen  who  had  come  from  Palma  during  the 
night,  and  three  man-of-war's  men,  waiting  in  the  street  for 
an  omnibus  which  was  to  carry  us  to  the  mole.  We  all 
waited  together  an  hour,  took  chocolate,  and  then,  after  an- 
other half-hour,  were  requested  to  climb  into  a  two-wheeled 
cart,  drawn  by  a  single  horse.  The  hostess  said  to  me,  '•  We 
are  not  very  fine,  and  I  don't  know  how  much  you  ought 
to  pay,  but  I  will  take  what  you  think  right,"  —  which  she 
did,  with  honest  thanks,  and  then  we  clattered  out  of  the  gate. 

A  descent  of  two  miles  between  fields  of  wheat  and  olives 
brought  us  to  the  mole,  where  we  found  only  a  few  lazy 
boatmen  lying  upon  heaps  of  iron  castings,  which  were 
waiting,  apparently,  for  the  English  engineers.  Shoals  of 
j-oung  sardines  sprinkled  the  clear  green  deeps  of  the  sea 
witli  a  million  points  of  light,  and  some  dead  flounders  lay 
like  lozenges  of  silver  among  the  dark  weeds  of  the  bottom. 
A.  new  fish-crate,  floating  beside  the  pier,  was  a  mild  evi- 
dence of  enterprise.  The  passengers  sat  in  the  sun  until 
it  became  too  powerful,  then  in  the  shade,  and  so  another 
hour  and  a  half  rolled  away.  With  the  first  appearance  of 
the  steamer,  we  got  into  a  boat,  and  slowly  floated  out  be^ 
tween  two  crystal  atmospheres  (so  transparent  is  the  sea' 
into  the  roadstead. 


210  BY-WAYS   OF  EiTROPE. 

The  extent  of  the  Bay  of  Alcudia  cannot  be  less  than 
fifteen  miles,  for  our  deliberate  steamer  was  nearly  two 
hours  in  getting  its  southern  headland  abeam.  Once  out- 
side, the  eastern  coast  of  Majorca  opened  finely  with  a  long, 
diminishing  group  of  mountains,  and  the  dim,  nearly  level 
outline  of  Minorca  appeared  in  front.  The  sea  was  like  a 
mirror,  broken  only  at  times  by  a  fioating  turtle  or  the  leap 
of  a  dolphin.  I  found  the  Mahonese  on  board  to  be  a  very 
diflferent  class  of  persons  from  the  Majorcans  in  whose  com- 
pany I  had  left  Barcelona.  Port  Mahon  was  for  twenty 
years  our  Mediterranean  naval  station ;  and  although  for 
twenty  years  it  has  ceased  to  be  so,  there  are  still  traces  of 
intelligence,  of  sympathy,  of  language,  and  of  blood,  which 
our  quasi-occupation  has  left  behind.  Two  of  the  passen- 
gers had  visited  America,  one  had  an  American  wife  in 
Minorca,  and  all  became  friendly  and  communicative  when 
my  nationality  was  announced.  They  had  faithfully  fol- 
lowed the  history  of  our  navy  through  the  war,  and  took 
especial  pains  to  claim  Admiral  Farragut  as  a  countryman. 
His  father,  they  said,  was  a  Minorcan,  and  the  farm  in  the 
interior  of  the  island  upon  which  he  once  lived  still  bears 
the  family  name.  I  was  brought  back  suddenly  from  the 
times  of  Tancred  (whicl\  had  faded  out  of  sight  with  the 
walls  of  Alcudia)  to  our  stormy  politics  and  the  new  names 
they  have  given  to  history. 

All  the  afternoon  we  skirted  the  southern  coast  of  Mi- 
norca. The  town  of  Ciudadela,  at  its  western  extremityj 
showed  like  a  faint  white  mark  in  the  distance ;  then  some 
groups  of  hills  interrupted  the  level  table  of  the  island,  and, 
farther  eastward,  the  solitary  mountains  of  El  Toro.  The 
two  gentlemen  of  Pal  ma,  neither  of  whom  had  ever  before 
made  a  journey,  went  below  and  slept  the  sleep  of  indiffer- 
ence. Many  of  the  Mahonese  followed  their  example ;  and, 
the  quarter-deck  being  left  clear.  I  stretched  myself  out  over 
the  cabin  skylight,  and  quietly  watched  the  monng  shore,  aS 
if  it  were  some  immense  diorama  unrolled  for  my  eyes  only. 


BALEABIC  DAYS.  211 

The  white  cliffs  along  the  sea,  the  tawny  harvest- fields,  the 
gray  olives  embosoming  villages  and  country-houses,  and  the 
occasional  shafts  of  cypress  or  palm,  slowly  photographed 
themselves  upon  my  consciousness,  and  became  enduring 
pictures.  Had  I  climbed  and  hammered  the  cliffs  as  a 
geologist,  scoured  the  fields  as  a  botanist,  analyzed  the  soil, 
or  even  measured  its  undulations,  I  could  not  have  obtained 
a  completer  impression  of  Minorca. 

El  Toro  was  drifting  astern,  and  the  island  of  Ayre 
showed  its  light-house  in  front,  when  the  sound  of  a  guitar 
disturbed  mvjcomfortable  processof  absorption,  and  brought 
the  sleepy  passengers  upon  deck.  The  performer  was  a 
blind  Spaniard,  a  coarse-featured,  clumsy  man,  whose  life 
and  soul  had  gone  into  his  instrument,  separating  light, 
beauty,  and  refinement  from  earthy  darkness.  When  he 
played,  the  guitar  really  seemed  to  be  the  man,  and  his 
body  a  mere  holder,  or  music-stand.  The  Mahonese,  I  was 
glad  to  see,  not  only  appreciated  the  performance,  but  were 
very  liberal  in  their  contributions. 

The  island  of  Ayre  lies  off  the  southeastern  extremity  of 
Minorca.  In  the  intervening  strait,  the  sea  was  so  wonder- 
fully transparent  that  the  alternations  of  bare  limestone  floor 
and  fields  of  sea-weed  far  below  our  keel,  changed  the  color 
of  the  water  from  a  turquoise  so  dazzling  that  I  can  only 
call  it  blue  fire  to  an  emerald  gloom  pierced  with  golden 
lightning^.  Even  that  southern  temperament  which  cares 
so  little  for  Nature,  was  aroused  by  the  sight  of  these  splen- 
dors. The  passengers  hung  over  the  railing  with  cries  of 
admiration,  and  the  blind  minstrel  was  left  to  soliloquize  on 
his  guitar.  Against  a  headland  in  front,  the  smooth  sea 
suddenly  rose  in  a  crest  of  foam,  behind  which  a  gleam  of 
darker  sapphire  denoted  the  mouth  of  a  harbor.  In  a  few 
minutes  more  we  were  abreast  of  the  entrance  to  Port  Ma- 
hon,  with  a  great  ascending  slope  of  new  fortifications  on  the 
north.  Hundreds  of  men  are  now  employed  on  defenses 
which  the  new  developments  in  na^  al  warfare  have  rendered 


212  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

useless  ;  and  the  officials  conceal,  with  the  most  jealous  feu 
the  plan  of  a  system  of  forts  and  batteries  which  no  other 
nation  need  care  to  know. 

The  lower  ground,  on  the  southern  side  of  the  entrance 
to  the  inner  harbor,  is  entirely  covered  with  the  ruins  of  the 
immense  fortress  of  San  Felipe,  built  by  the  English  during 
their  occupation  of  Minorca  from  1708  to  1802.  The  fate 
of  Admiral  Byng,  executed  for  a  naval  victory  over  the 
French,  gives  a  tragic  interest  to  these  ruins,  which,  in 
their  extent,  resemble  those  of  a  city.  All  governments 
(our  own  included)  know  how  to  make  their  Individual  ser- 
vants the  scapegoats  for  their  blunders  or  their  incapacity; 
but  I  know  not,  in  all  history,  of  a  case  so  flagrant  as  that 
of  Byng.  The  destruction  of  Fort  San  Felipe  cost  nearly 
half  a  million  of  dollars,  and  yet  it  appears  to  be  only  partial. 

On  passing  the  channel  between  the  fort  and  Cape  Mola, 
we  found  ourselves  in  the  port,  but  only  at  its  entrance  ;  the 
city  was  not  yet  visible.  A  bright  white  town  crowned  the 
low  cliffs  of  the  southern  shore  —  the  former  Georgetown 
of  the  English,  the  present  Villa  Carlos  of  the  Spaniards. 
Opposite  to  it,  the  long  quarantine  island  divided  the  in- 
tensely blue  water ;  and  my  fellow-passengers  claimed  with 
pride  that  it  was  capable  of  accommodating  a  whole  fleet. 
Beyond  this  island  the  harbor  bends  southward,  shutting  out 
of  sight  the  sea  entrance  ;  it  becomes  a  still  lake,  inclosed 
by  bare,  bright  hills.  The  Isle  of  the  King,  with  a  splendid 
military  hospital ;  the  ship-yard,  with  a  vessel  of  a  thousand 
tons  on  the  stocks,  and  various  other  public  constructions, 
appeared  successively  on  our  right.  The  nearer  southern 
shore,  a  wall  of  dark  gray  rock,  broken  by  deep  gashes  in 
which  houses  were  hidden  and  steep  roads  climbed  to  the 
summit,  increased  in  height :  as  we  approached  the  end  of 
the  harbor,  quays  along  the  water,  and  a  fresh,  many-colored, 
glittering  town  on  the  rocks,  showed  that  we  had  reached 
Port  Mahon.  Nature  has  made  this  basin  as  picturesque 
•s  it  is  Etecure.     The  wild  cliffs  of  the  coast  here  pierce 


BALEABIC  DAYS.  218 

inland,  but  l,hey  are  draped  with  splendid  gardens ;  fielda 
of  wheat  climb  the  hills,  and  orchards  of  olive  clothe  their 
feet ;  over  the  table-land  of  the  island  rises  in  the  distance 
the  purple  peak  of  El  Toro ;  and  the  city  before  you,  raised 
on  a  pedestal  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  seems  to  be  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  Mediterranean.  "  Did  you  ever 
see  a  place  like  that  ?  "  asked  a  Mahonese  at  my  elbow. 

"  Captain ,  of  your  navy,  used  to  say  that  there  were 

only  three  good  harbors  in  the  Mediterranean,  —  the 
months  of  July  and  August,  and  Port  Mahon  !  "  Captain 
,  however,  as  my  friend  perhaps  did  not  know,  bor- 
rowed the  remark  from  Admiral  Andrea  Doria,  who  made 
it  centuries  ago. 

The  "  Fonda  del  Oriente  "  looked  down  upon  me  invit- 
ingly from  the  top  of  the  rock,  which  was  made  accessible 
by  a  road  carried  up  in  steep,  zigzag  ramps.  At  the  door 
of  the  hotel  I  was  received  by  a  stout  old  man  with  a  cos- 
mopolitan face,  who,  throwing  his  head  on  one  shoulder, 
inspected  me  for  a  few  moments  with  a  remarkably  know- 
ing air.  Then,  with  a  nod  of  satisfaction  at  his  own  acute- 
ness,  he  said,  ''Walk  in.  sir;  how  do  you  find  yourself?* 
Ushering  me  into  a  chamber  furnished  with  an  old  mahog- 
any secretary,  heavy  arm-chairs,  and  antiquated  prints, — 
the  atmosphere  of  Portsmouth  or  Gravesend  hanging  over 
everything,  —  he  continued,  after  another  critical  survey, 
"  Mr.  Alexander,  I  believe  ?  " 

'•  That  is  not  my  name,"  I  said. 

"  Not  Alexander !  Then  it  must  be  Sykes ;  they  are 
brothers-in-law,  you  know,"  persisted  the  stout  old  man. 

I  answered  him  with  a  scrutinizing  stare,  and  the  words, 
"  Your  name  is  Bunsby,  I  think  ?  " 

'^  0  no  !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  I  am  Antonio.  You  can't  be 
Mr.  Sykes,  either,  or  you'd  know  me." 

"  You  are  talking  of  Englishmen  ;  I  am  not  English." 

"  Not  English  ?  "  he  cried.  "  H'm,  well,  that's  queer  | 
but,  to  be  sure,  you  must  be  American.     I  know  all  the 


214  BY-WAYS  OF  EUBOPE. 

American  officers  that  ever  were  here,  and  they  know  mt. 
Ask  Commodore and if  they  don't  know  An- 
tonio !  The  greatest  mistake  I  ever  made  was  that  I  didn't 
move  to  Spezia  with  the  squadron." 

"  Can  you  give  me  dinner  ? "  I  asked,  cutting  off  the 
coming  yarn. 

"  Stop !  "  he  said  ;  "  don't  tell  me ;  I  can' guess  what  you 
want.  A  beefsteak  rare,  hey  ?  and  mixed  pickles,  hey  ?  and 
potatoes  with  their  jackets  on,  hey  ?  But  it's  too  late  to 
make  a  pudding,  and  there's  no  Stilton  cheese !  Never 
mind!  let  me  alone;  nobody  in  Fort  Mahon  can  come 
nearer  the  real  thing  than  I  can." 

In  vain  I  declared  my  willingness  to  take  the  Minorcan 
dishes.  Such  a  taste  had  probably  never  before  been  ex- 
pressed in  all  Antonio's  experience  of  English  and  Ameri- 
cans ;  and  n)y  meals  then  and  thenceforth  were  a  series  of 
struggles  to  reproduce  Portsmouth  or  Gravesend.  But  the 
hotel  was  large,  airy,  and  perfectly  clean  ;  Antonio  honestly 
endeavored  to  make  me  comfortable  ;  he  knew  a  great  many 
of  my  naval  friends,  and  I  had  no  complaint  to  make  with 
his  reckoning  at  the  close  of  my  stay.  He  was,  moreover, 
a  man  of  progress ;  he  corned  beef,  and  cured  hams,  and 
introduced  the  making  of  butter  (not  very  successfully), 
and  taught  the  people  how  to  cook  potatoes.  He  even 
dispatched  a  cheese,  as  a  present,  to  Marshal  Serrano, 
before  I  left  Port  Mahon. 

Refreshed  by  a  long  sleep,  which  was  not  disturbed  by 
any  little  dog  with  a  bell  on  his  neck,  or  that  which  the 
sound  of  the  latter  suggested,  I  sallied  forth  in  the  morning 
without  any  objective  point.  The  city  must  first  be  seen, 
because  it  lay  between  me  and  the  country.  I  was  delighted 
to  find  wide,  well-paved  streets  as  compared  with  those  of 
Palma,  clean,  cheerful  houses,  and  an  irregularity  sufficient 
for  picturesque  effect,  without  being  bewildering  to  a  stran- 
ger. Very  few  of  the  buildings  appeared  to  be  older  than 
the  last  century  ;  there  was  nothing  characteristic  in  theif 


ALEABIG  DATS.  216 

arcbitecture  ;  but  the  city,  from  end  to  end,  was  gay,  sunny, 
full  of  color,  riante,  and  without  a  trace  of  the  usual  Spanish 
indolence  and  uncleanliness.  It  has  somewhat  fallen  from 
its  former  estate.  Grass  grows  in  many  of  the  streets,  and 
there  is  less  noise  and  movement  than  one  would  look  for 
with  the  actual  population  —  some  fifteen  thousand.  Three 
or  four  small  craft  in  the  harbor  did  not  indicate  an  active 
commerce,  and  I  presume  the  place  is  kept  alive  mainly 
by  the  visits  of  foreign  men-of-war.  A  great  many  of  the 
common  people  speak  a  few  words  of  English,  and  you 
may  even  read  "  Adams,  Sastre,"  over  the  door  of  a  native 
tailor ! 

The  climate,  although  considered  harsh  by  the  Spaniards, 
seemed  to  me  perfect.  The  sun  of  June  shone  in  a  cloud- 
less sky,  flooding  the  sharp,  clear  colors  of  the  town  with  a 
deluge  of  light ;  yet  a  bracing  wind  blew  from  the  north, 
and  the  people  in  the  fields  and  gardens  worked  as  steadily 
as  Connecticut  farmers.  I  saw  no  loafers  upon  the  island ; 
and  I  doubt  whether  there  are  enough  of  them  to  form  a 
class  among  the  native  population.  While  there  was  evi- 
dently a  great  deal  of  poverty,  I  encountered  no  beggars. 
I  felt,  as  in  Majorca,  that  I  was  among  a  simple-minded, 
ignorant,  but  thoroughly  honest  and  industrious  people. 

The  street  I  had  chosen  gradually  rose  as  I  proceeded 
inland ;  walled  gardens  succeeded  to  the  houses,  and  then 
fields  of  wheat  or  vines,  separated  by  huge  agglomerations 
of  stones.  I  looked  over  an  undulating  table-land,  cov- 
ered with  such  lines  and  mounds  of  rocky  debris,  that  they 
seemed  to  be  the  ruins  of  a  city.  Every  patch  of  grain  or 
fruit  was  inclosed  by  a  cannon-proof  fortification,  and  the 
higher  ridges  terminated  in  bald  parapets,  whereon  the 
dark  mounds  of  box  and  ilex  held  fast  and  flourished  with- 
out any  appearance  of  soil.  At  the  foot  of  these  wild 
growths  the  fig-tree  grew  with  wonderful  luxuriance,  and 
very  often  the  foliage  of  the  untamable  rock  was  mingled 
with  tha';  of  the  gardens      Here  every  foot  of  ground  had 


216  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

been  won  by  the  rudest,  the  most  patient  toil.  Even  tbc 
fields  conquered  centuries  ago  are  not  yet  completely  man* 
ageable ;  hundreds  of  stony  fangs  still  protrude  from  the 
surface,  and  the  laborer  is  obliged  to  follow  the  plough 
with  hoe  and  spade.  Thus,  in  spite  of  the  almost  incred- 
ible triumphs  of  agriculture  with  which  the  island  is  covered, 
its  general  aspect  is  that  of  a  barren,  torn,  hopeless  wilder- 
ness. Without  broad  or  grand  features  of  landscape,  it  is 
crowded  with  startling  contrasts  and  picturesque  details. 

I  wandered  southward  between  the  high,  loose  walls, 
towards  a  mound  which  promised  me  a  wider  inland  view ; 
but  on  approaching  it,  the  road  entered  an  impenetrable 
shade,  and  passed  beyond.  There  was  no  gate  or  entrance 
of  any  kind  into  the  fields,  so  I  took  advantage  of  a  jagged 
corner  of  the  wall,  and  climbed  to  the  top.  On  the  other 
side  there  was  a  wheat-field,  in  which  three  men  were  reap- 
ing. I  now  saw  that  what  I  had  taken  for  a  mound  was  a 
circular  tower,  the  top  of  which  had  been  torn  down,  form- 
ing a  slope  around  its  base,  which  was  covered  with  rank 
thickets  of  mastic  and  myrtle.  I  asked  the  men,  who  had 
stopped  work,  and  were  curiously  regarding  me,  whether  I 
might  cross  their  field  and  visit  the  ruin.  "  Certainly, 
Sefior,"  said  the  master ;  "  come  down  and  walk  about 
where  you  please."  He  then  called,  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  Miguel !  "  and  presently  a  small  boy  came  to  light  from 
behind  a  pile  of  rocks.  "  Miguel,"  said  he,  "  go  with  the 
Senor  to  the  atalaya,  and  show  him  the  steps." 

I  clambered  down  into  the  little  field,  which,  sunken 
between  enormous  walls  of  stone,  somewhat  resembled  a 
volcanic  crater.  Miguel  piloted  me  silently  across  the 
stubble,  between  solid  mounds  of  ilex,  which  seemed  no 
less  ancient  and  indestructible  than  the  rocks  upon  which 
they  grew,  and  by  a  gap  in  an  outer  wall  into  the  bed  of  a 
dry  moat  around  the  tower.  The  latter,  though  only  ten 
feet  wide,  stood  thick  with  ripe  wheat ;  but  it  was  bridged 
in  one  place  by  a  line  of  stones,  and  we  thus  crossed  witb 


BALEARIC   DAYS.  217 

out  trampling  down  the  precious  stalks.  There  were  no 
steps  to  the  tower,  but  a  zigzag  path  had  been  trampled 
among  the  ruins,  at  the  foot  of  which  I  dismissed  Miguel, 
and  then  mounted  to  the  summit.  I  first  looked  abroad 
upon  the  bright,  busy,  wild,  savage,  wonderfully  cultivated 
fields  and  gardens,  the  white  towers  and  tiled  roofs  of  the 
city  behind  me,  and  a  single  blue  fragment  of  the  sea  (like 
a  piece  chipped  out  of  the  edge  of  a  bowl)  in  the  east.  The 
characteristics  of  Minorcan  scenery,  which  I  have"  already 
described,  gave  the  view  a  character  so  novel  and  so  re 
markable,  that  I  studied  them  for  a  long  time  before  ex 
amining  more  closely  the  ruin  upon  which  I  stood. 

The  fanner  had  called  it  an  atalaya,  and  the  tower  was 
clearly  of  Moorish  construction.  Its  height  must  have 
been  originally  much  greater,  or  it  could  not  have  answered 
its  purpose  of  watching  the  sea.  The  hollow  interior  is  en- 
tirely filled  with  the  fragments,  so  that  nothing  of  the  struc- 
ture remains  except  its  circular  form.  Outside  of  the  dry 
moat  there  is  a  massive  pentangular  wall,  with  a  lozenge- 
shaped  pile  of  solid  masonry  at  each  corner ;  the  whole 
evidently  designed  for  defense,  and  of  later  date  than  the 
tower  itself  Such  quantities  of  stones  had  been  heaped 
upon  the  old  foundations  by  the  farmers,  in  clearing  spaces 
for  their  crops,  that  very  little  of  the  masonry  was  to  be 
seen.  To  be  of  service,  however,  the  walls  must  have  been 
at  least  twenty  feet  higher  than  at  present.  Many  of  the 
stones  have  no  doubt  been  carried  away  for  buildings,  and 
there  are  still  huge  piles  of  them  in  the  adjacent  fields. 
Towering  out  of  one  of  these  piles  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
another  relic  of  a  still  remoter  past  —  an  object  so  unex- 
pected that  I  at  first  took  it  for  an  accidental  disposition 
of  the  stones.  I  descended  to  the  moat,  clambered  over 
the  outer  wall,  and  made  my  way  to  the  spot. 

It  was  a  Celtic  tor,  or  altar  —  a  large  upright  block  of 
gray  limestone,  supporting  a  horizontal  block  about  ten 
feet  in  length.     The  pillar  was  so  buried  in  fragmenla 


218  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

which  had  been  piled  about  it,  that  I  could  not  ascertain 
its  height ;  but  the  character  of  the  monument  was  too  dis- 
tinctly marked  to  admit  of  a  question.  After  returning  to 
Port  Mahon,  I  found  that  its  existence  was  well  known. 
In  fact,  the  first  question  asked  me  was,  "  Have  you  seen 
the  Phoenician  altar?"  When  and  by  whom  these  re- 
markable monuments  —  which  are  found  in  all  the  Medi- 
terranean islands  betwe-an  Greece  and  Gibraltar  —  were 
erected,'  is  a  point  which  I  will  leave  antiquarians  to  dis- 
cuss. It  pleased  me,  as  I  sat  under  a  fig-tree  which  shot 
up  through  the  stones,  to  fancy  that  the  remains  of  three 
memorable  phases  in  the  history  of  man  were  before  me, 
—  of  the  Druids  in  the  crumbling  altar,  of  the  Saracens  in 
the  watch-tower,  and  of  the  house  of  Aragon  or  Castile  in 
the  fortress  enclosing  it. 

According  to  Strabo,  the  Balearic  Islands  were  colonized 
by  the  Rhodians ;  but  Strabo  probably  knew  less  about  the 
matter  than  any  respectable  antiquarian  of  our  own  day. 
The  people  of  Minorca  firmly  believe  that  Magon,  the 
brother  of  Hannibal,  founded  Port  Mahon,  and  they  attrib- 
ute the  Druidic  stones  and  the  Cyclopean  constructions 
(which  are  here  found  side  by  side)  to  the  Phoenicians. 
The  English  occupation,  which  left  at  least  a  good  map  be- 
hind it,  led  to  no  historic  investigations  ;  and  I  cannot  learn 
that  any  detailed  account  of  the  antiquities  of  the  island 
has  ever  been  published.  Those  remains  which  we  call 
Druidic  are  very  numerous ;  some  of  the  upright  monoliths 
are  more' than  twenty  feet  in  height,  supporting  horizontal 
stones  of  nearly  equal  dimensions.  Nothing  but  the  lack 
of  archaeological  knowledge  prevented  me  from  making  a 
journey  through  the  interior  for  the  purpose  of  examining 
the  other  monuments. 

I  made  use  of  my  brief  visit,  however,  to  test  the  truth  of 
another  story,  which  is  among  the  permanent  traditions  of 
the  American  navy.  Every  one  has  read  the  account  of  a 
captain's  son  leaping  from  the  main-truck  of  a  frigate  ;  and 


BALEARIC  DAYS.  219 

in  the  days  when  Morris  was  popular,  his  verses  cofnmen* 

cing  — 

"  Old  Ironsides  at  anchor  lay 
In  the  harbor  of  Mahon," 

went  the  rounds  of  all  the  country  newspapers.  There 
was  a  melodramatic  air  about  the  incident  which  made  me 
suspicious.  I  suppose  the  lines  recalled  themselves  to  my 
mind  from  the  fact  that  Port  Mahon  is  nowhere  else  noted 
in  song.  The  Consul,  who  kindly  seconded  my  curiosity 
in  a  matter  of  so  little  importance,  went  to  an  old 
Mahonese,  who  has  had  the  greatest  experience  of  our  ves- 
sels and  officers,  and  questioned  him,  taking  care  not  to 
suggest  the  story  in  advance.  But  the  old  man  instantly 
said :  "  0  yes  !  I  remember  all  about  it.  Fifty  years  ago, 
or  more,  when  the  Constitution  frigate  was  here,  a  boy 
climbed  to  the  very  top  of  the  mainmast,  and  was  obliged  to 
jump  into  the  harbor,  as  there  was  no  other  way  of  getting 
down.  Not  many  persons  saw  the  act,  but  it  was  much 
talked  about,  and  nobody  doubted  that  the  boy  had  done 
it"  Whether  the  captain  forced  his  son  to  take  the  ter- 
rible leap  by  threatening  to  shoot  him  with  a  rifle,  the  old 
man  could  not  tell. 

The  next  morning  the  Consul  accompanied  me  on  an- 
other excursion  into  the  country.  We  passed  through  the 
town,  and  descended  to  an  alameda  which  skirts  the  har- 
bor to  its  western  end,  where  the  highway  to  Ciudadela 
strikes  off  towards  the  centre  of  the  island.  The  harbor 
once  penetj^ated  a  mile  deeper  into  the  country  than  at 
present,  so  the  people  say  ;  but  it  must  have  been  a  shal- 
low, marshy  basin,  as  the  hills  around  could  not  possibly 
spare  enough  soil  to  fill  up  and  make  fruitful  the  valley 
which  one  now  enters  after  leaving  the  harbor-wall.  This 
valley  is  the  largest  tract  of  unbroken  garden  land  which 
I  saw  in  Minorca.  Its  productiveness  is  apparently  un- 
limited. Maize,  cabbages,  sweet  potatoes,  hemp,  vines, 
vegetables  of  all  kinds,  covered  the  surface ;  date-palmi 


220  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

and  orange-trees,  so  overwhelmed  with  fruit  that  scarcelj 
a  green  leaf  showed  through  the  dazzling  gold,  turned  it 
into  a  garden  of  the  tropics  ;  while  precipitous  walls  ol 
limestone,  resting  on  rough  natural  vaults  and  arches,  shut 
out  the  rocky  upper  plateau  from  view.  The  k  borers  were 
planting  new  crops  in  the  place  of  the  old ;  so  valuable  is 
this  rich  basin  that  no  part  of  its  surface  is  allowed  to  lie 
fallow  for  a  day. 

On  the  left,  the  inclosing  walls  were  broken  by  the 
mouth  of  a  glen,  the  sides  of  which  —  regular  terraces  of 
rock,  resting  on  arched  foundations —  seemed  at  first  sight 
to  be  the  work  of  art.  Here,  in  the  shade  of  a  group  of 
poplars  and  sycamores,  stood  the  chapel  of  San  Juan, 
white,  cool,  and  solitary.  A  fountain,  issuing  from  the  base 
of  the  rocks  near  it,  formed  a  little  pool  in  which  some 
women  were  washing  clothes.  The  picture  was  Oriental 
in  every  feature,  —  so  much  so  that  I  was  surprised  not  to 
hear  "  Saba'  el-kheyr !  "  when  the  women  said  to  us,  "  Bon 
di'  tenga ! " 

Entering  the  glen  behind  the  chapel,  a  few  paces 
brought  us  into  a  different  world.  Except  upon  some 
painfully  constructed  shelf  of  soil,  built  up  or  rescued  in 
some  way  from  the  rocks,  there  was  no  cultivation.  Our 
path  was  a  natural  pavement,  torn  by  the  occasional  rains ; 
bare  cliffs  of  gray  limestone,  vaulted  at  the  base,  overhung 
us  on  either  side,  and  the  mounds  of  box  on  the  summit 
sparkled  against  the  sky.  Every  feature  of  the  scenery 
bore  the  marks  of  convulsion.  Enormous  blocks  had  been 
hurled  from  above  ;  the  walls  were  split  with  deep,  irregu- 
lar crevices ;  and  even  the  stubborn  evergreen  growths 
took  fantastic  shapes  of  horns,  fluttering  wings,  tufts  of 
hair,  or  torn  garments.  Now  and  then  a  dry-leaved  ilex 
rustled  and  rattled  in  the  breeze  ;  and  the  glen,  notwith- 
standing it  brimmed  over  with  intensest  sunshine,  would 
have  seemed  very  drear  and  desolate  but  for  the  iucessant 
Bongs  of  the  nightingales.     While  I  crept  under  a  rock  to 


BALEABIC  DATS.  221 

sketch  a  singularly  picturesque  combination  of  those  crag- 
forms,  —  every  one  of  which  was  a  study,  —  the  joyous 
birds  made  the  place  ring  with  their  paeans.  The  day- 
song  of  the  nightingale  is  as  cheerful  as  that  of  the  lark ; 
its  passion  and  sorrow  is  kept  for  the  night. 

If  I  had  been  an  artist,  I  should  have  spent  a  fortnight 
in  the  glen  of  San  Juan ;  but  as  it  was,  having  only  an- 
other day  in  Minorca,  I  could  not  linger  there  beyond  an 
hour.  At  the  point  where  I  sat  it  divides  into  two 
branches,  which  gradually  rise,  as  they  wind,  to  the  level 
of  the  table-land ;  and  the  great  stone-heaps  commence 
immediately  behind  the  topmost  fringe  of  box.  The 
island,  in  fact,  is  a  single  rock,  upon  the  level  portions  of 
which  a  little  soil  has  lodged.  Wherever  one  may  travel 
in  the  interior,  it  presents  the  same  appearance.  The  dis- 
tance from  Port  Mahon  to  the  old  town  of  Ciirdadela,  at 
the  western  extremity  of  Minorca,  is  about  twenty-five 
miles;  and  the  Consul  informed  me  that  I  should  find 
the  same  landscapes  all  the  way.  There  is  nothing  re- 
markable in  Ciudadela  except  a  cathedral  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  some  Saracenic  walls.  On  the  way  are  the 
three  other  principal  towns  of  the  island  —  Alayor,  Mer- 
cadal,  and  Ferrerias, —  all  of  which  are  rudely  built,  and 
have  an  equal  air  of  poverty.  It  was  for  a  moment  a  ques- 
tion with  me  whether  I  should  employ  my  little  remaining 
time  in  a  rapid  journey  to  Ciudadela  and  back,  or  in  stroll- 
ing leisurely  through  the  country  around  Port  Mahon,  and 
setting  down  my  observations  as  typical  of  all  Minorca. 
The  reports  of  the  Consul  justified  me  in  adopting  the  lat- 
ter and  easier  course. 

In  the  afternoon  we  walked  to  the  village  of  San  Luis, 
about  four  miles  distant,  and  recently  made  accessible  by 
a  superb  highway.  The  great  drought  which  has  prevailed 
in  all  the  Balearic  Islands  during  the  past  two  years  has 
seriously  injured  the  crops,  and  there  is  much  suffering  in 
Minorca,  which  is  so  much  less  favored  by  nature  tlian  \\£ 


222  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

larger  sister  island.  I  heard  of  families  of  five  persons 
living  for  months  on  less  than  twenty-five  cents  a  day. 
Agriculture  is  proStable  in  good  seasons,  on  account  of  the 
excellent  quality  of  the  wheat,  oil,  and  oranges ;  but  the 
deposit  of  soil,  as  I  have  already  explained,  is  very  shallow, 
there  is  no  sheltering  range  of  mountains  as  in  Majorca, 
no  supply  of  water  for  irrigation,  and  the  average  produc- 
tion is  therefore  much  less  certain.  The  price  of  land  is 
oigh,  for  the  reason  that  the  proprietors  are  satisfied  if  it 
yields  them  annually  two  per  cent,  of  its  value.  Shoe- 
making  is  one  of  the  principal  branches  of  industry  in 
Port  Mahon ;  but  of  late  the  foreign  market  has  been  dis- 
turbed, and  the  profits  are  so  slight — whether  through 
slow  and  imperfect  labor  or  the  sharpness  of  contractors  I 
did  not  ascertain  —  that  any  check  in  the  trade  brings  im- 
mediate suffering.  The  people,  nevertheless,  are  very 
patient ;  they  invariably  prefer  work  to  mendicancy,  and 
are  cheerful  and  contented  so  long  as  they  succeed  in 
clothing  and  feeding  themselves. 

The  Minorcans  seemed  to  me  even  more  independent 
and  original  in  character  than  the  Majorcans.  There  is 
still  less  of  the  Spaniard,  but  also  less  of  the  Moor,  about 
them.  I  should  guess  their  blood  to  be  mostly  Vandal, 
but  I  stand  ready  to  be  corrected  by  any  ethnologist  who 
knows  better.  They  have  a  rugged,  sturdy  air,  little  grace 
and  elegance,  either  of  body  or  of  manner,  and  a  simpli- 
city which  does  not  exclude  shrewdness  or  cunning.  It  is 
considered  almost  an  insult  if  the  stranger  speaks  of  them 
as  Spaniards.  The  Governor  of  the  island  said  to  Mar- 
shal Serrano,  the  other  day,  when  the  latter  was  in  Port 
Mahon  in  temporary  exile  :  "  The  Minorcans  are  a  curious 
people.  You  probably  find  that  they  do  not  take  ofi"  their 
hats  to  you  in  the  street,  as  you  are  accustomed  to  be 
saluted  in  Madrid  ? "  "  Yes,"  answered  the  Marshal,  "  I 
have  already  learned  that  they  care  nothing  whatever  for 
either  you  or  me."     The  older  people  look  back  on  the 


BALEARIC  DATS.  228 

English  occupation  with  regret ;  the  younger  generatioc 
would  be  exceedingly  well  satisfied  if  Spain  would  sell  the 
island  to  the  United  States  for  a  naval  station.  But  all 
unite  in  calling  themselves  Minorcans,  or  Mahonese,  and 
in  drawing  a  very  broad  line  between  themselves  and  the 
Spaniards  of  the  Peninsula. 

The  Consul  confirmed  my  first  impressions  of  the  hon- 
esty of  the  people.  "  You  may  walk  on  any  road  in  the 
island,"  said  he,  "  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  with 
the  most  perfect  security."  He  also  gave  them  the  highest 
praise  for  cleanliness  and  order  in  their  domestic  life, 
which  are  certainly  not  Spanish  qualities.  The  young 
men  and  women  who  are  betrothed  save  every  penny  of 
their  earnings,  and  invest  them  in  the  articles  of  furniture 
necessary  to  the  establishment  of  a  household.  Simple 
as  are  these  latter,  many  years  often  elapse  before  they  are 
all  procured  and  the  nuptials  may  be  celebrated,  the  par- 
ties remaining  steadfastly  constant  to  each  other  during 
the  long  time  of  waiting.  They  are  a  people  in  whom 
almost  any  honest  system  of  education,  any  possible  sound 
ideas  of  progress,  would  take  immediate  root ;  but  under 
the  combined  shadow  of  Spain  and  Rome,  what  progress 
is  possible  ? 

I  have  never  seen  Broek,  in  Holland,  but  I  think  San 
Luis  must  be  the  cleanest  village  in  Europe.  I  attributed 
its  amazing  brightness,  as  we  approached,  to  the  keen, 
semi- African  sun  and  the  perfectly  clear  air ;  but  I  found 
that  all  the  houses  had  been  whitewashed  that  very  after- 
noon, as  they  regularly  are  every  Saturday.  The  street 
was  swept  so  conscientiously  that  we  might  have  seated 
ourselves  and  taken  our  dinner  anywhere,  without  getting 
more  than  each  man's  inevitable  proportion  of  dust  in  the 
dishes.  In  the  open  doors,  as  I  passed,  I  saw  floors  of 
shining  tiles,  clean  wooden  furniture,  women  in  threadbare 
but  decent  dresses,  and  children  —  no,  the  children  were 
dirty,  and  I  confess  I  should  not  have  been  pleased  to  se« 


224  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

them  otherwise.  The  sand  and  fig-stains  on  those  little 
faces  and  hands  were  only  health-marks,  and  they  made 
the  brightness  of  the  little  village  endurable.  It  would 
else  have  seemed  to  be  struck  with  an  unusual  disease. 
We  went  into  a  house  where  two  old  women  —  very,  very 
poor  they  were,  but  uncomplaining  —  received  us  with 
simple,  unaftected  friendliness.  I  spoke  in  Spanish  and 
they  in  Minorcan,  so  that  the  conversation  was  not  very  in- 
telligible ;  but  the  visit  gave  me  a  fleeting  impression  of 
the  sterling  qualities  of  the  people,  inasmuch  as  it  harmo- 
nized with  all  that  I  had  previously  seen  and  heard. 

The  Consul  conducted  me  to  a  little  casino,  where  re- 
freshments, limited  in  character,  were  to  be  procured.  The 
maestro,  a  stout  fellow,  with  the  air  of  a  Bowery  butcher, 
opened  his  heart  on  learning  that  we  were  Americans.  He 
had  served  a  year  on  board  one  of  our  men-of-war,  and  re- 
peated, over  and  over  again,  "  The  way  things  were  man- 
aged there  satisfied  me,  —  it  corresponded  with  my  own 
ideas ! "  He  made  me  read,  around  a  spiral  pillar,  the 
words,  •'  Casino  del  Progreso,"  saying,  "  That 's  what  I  go 
for ! "  There  was  a  church  nearly  opposite,  and  from  its 
architecture  a  man  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that  the 
Jesuits  had  had  a  hand  in  building  it.  This  I  sketched, 
and  the  progressive  host,  leaning  over  my  shoulder,  inter- 
preted the  drawing  correctly.  His  extravagant  admiration 
made  me  feel  that  I  had  done  well,  and  we  parted  mutually 
satisfied.  Indeed,  this  little  village  interested  me  even 
more  than  Port  Mahon,  because  it  was  more  purely  Minor- 
can  in  character. 

The  quantities  of  the  fig-bearing  cactus  about  the  coun- 
try-houses surprised  me,  imtil  I  learned  that  the  fleshy 
leaves  are  used  during  the  dry  season  as  food  for  the  nniles 
and  asses.  The  fruit,  which  is  said  to  be  remarkably  fine 
on  the  island,  is  eaten  by  the  inhabitants,  and  must  form, 
in  times  of  want,  an  important  article  of  their  food ;  yet 
so  much  space  would  not  be  given  to  the  plant,  or  rathei 


BALEABIC   DAYS.  2^ 

tree,  if  the  animals  had  not  been  taught  to  subsist  upon 
it.  I  have  never  before  heard,  in  any  part  of  the  world, 
of  the  cactus  being  made  useful  in  this  way.  Its  huge, 
grotesque  masses  are  an  inseparable  part  of  every  land- 
scape on  the  island. 

We  walked  back  to  Port  Mahon  in  the  face  of  a  north 
wind  which  was  almost  cold,  which  blew  away  the  rich 
color  from  the  sunset  sky,  leaving  it  pale,  clear,  and  melan- 
choly in  tone ;  yet  thunder  and  violent  rain  followed  in  the 
night.  I  spent  my  last  evening  with  the  Consul  and  his 
agreeable  family,  and  embarked  on  the  steamer  for  Bar- 
celona in  the  morning.  As  we  passed  out  of  the  harbor, 
Antonio's  daughter  waved  her  handkerchief  from  the  win- 
dow high  above,  on  the  cliff.  The  salute  was  not  intended 
for  me,  but  for  her  husband,  who  was  bound  for  Madrid, 
carrying  with  him  the  cheese  for  Marshal  Serrano.  Rocked 
on  a  rough  sea,  and  with  a  keen  wind  blowing,  we  again 
coas*;ed  along  the  southern  shorie  of  Minorca,  crossed  the 
strait,  touched  at  Alcudia.  and  then,  passing  the  mouth  of 
the  Bay  of  PoUenza,  reached  the  northern  headland  of 
Majorca  at  sunset.  Here  the  mountain-chain  falls  off  in 
perpendicular  walls  a  thousand  feet  in  height,  the  bases  of 
which  are  worn  into  caverns  and  immense  echoing  vaults. 
The  coast-forms  are  as  grand  and  wonderful  as  those  of 
Norway.  Point  after  point,  each  more  abrupt  and  distorted 
than  the  last,  came  into  view  as  we  cleared  the  headland  — 
all  growing  luminous  in  the  mist  and  the  orange  light  of 
the  setting  sun. 

Then  the  light  faded  ;  the  wild  mountain-forms  were 
fused  together  in  a  cold  gray  mass  above  the  sea ;  the  stam 
cnme  out,  and  my  last  Balearic  day  was  at  an  end. 


CATALONIAN  BRIDLE-KOADS. 

"  And  mule-bells  tinkling  down  the  mountain-paths  of  Spain." 

IVhiting. 


i  LEARNED  Something  of  the  bridle- roads  of  Catalonia 
in  defiance  of  advice  and  warning,  and  almost  against  mj 
own  inclination.  My  next  point  of  interest,  after  leaving 
the  Balearic  Islands,  was  the  forgotten  Republic  of  Andorra, 
in  the  Pyrenees ;  and  the  voice  of  the  persons  whom  I 
consulted  in  Barcelona  —  none  of  whom  had  made  the 
journey,  or  knew  any  one  who  had  —  was  unanimous  that 
I  should  return  to  France,  and  seek  an  entrance  from  that 
side.  Such  a  course  would  certainly  have  been  more  com- 
fortable ;  but  the  direct  route,  from  the  very  insecurity 
which  was  predicted,  offered  a  prospect  of  adventure,  the 
fascination  of  which,  I  regret  to  say,  I  have  not  yet  entire- 
ly outgrown.  "  It  is  a  country  of  smugglers  and  robbers," 
said  the  banker  who  replenished  my  purse ;  "  and  I  serious- 
ly advise  you  not  to  enter  it  Moreover,  the  roads  are  al- 
most impassable,  and  there  is  nothing  to  be  seen  on  the 
way." 

These  words,  uttered  with  a  grave  face  by  a  native  Cata- 
lan, ought  to  have  decided  the  matter,  yet  they  did  not 
To  be  sure,  I  thanked  the  man  for  his  warning,  and  lefl 
him  to  suppose  that  I  would  profit  by  it,  rather  than  enter 
into  any  discussion ;  but  when  I  quitted  his  office,  with 
fresh  funds  in  my  pocket,  and  corresponding  courage  in 
my  bosom,  my  course  was  already  decided.  Had  I  not 
heard  the  same  warnings,  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  and  had 
not  the  picturesque  danger  always  fled  as  I  approached  it? 
Nevertheless,  there  came  later  moments  of  doubt,  the  sug- 
gestions of  that  convenient  life  which  we  lead  at  home,  and 
the  power  of  which  increases  with  our  years.  Fatigue  and 
hardship  do  not  become  lighter  from  repetition,  but  the  re 


230  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

verse;  the  remembrance  of  past  aches  and  past  himgei 
returns  whenever  the  experience  is  renewed,  and  aggra- 
vates it. 

So,  when  I  had  descended  from  Montserrat,  and  was 
waiting  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  at  the  door  of  the  rudest 
possible  restaurant,  at  the  railway  station  of  Monistrol,  a 
little  imp  whispered :  "  The  first  train  is  for  Barcelona. 
Take  it  and  you  will  be  in  France  to-morrow  night.  This 
way  is  safe  and  speedy ;  you  know  not  what  the  other  may 
be."  I  watched  the  orange-light  fade  from  the  topmost 
pinnacles  of  Montserrat ;  a  distant  whistle  sounded,  and 
the  other  pilgrims  hurried  towards  the  ticket-office.  I 
followed  them  as  far  as  the  door,  paused  a  moment,  and 
then  said  to  myself :  "  No,  if  I  back  out  now,  I  shall  never 
be  sure  of  myself  again  ! "  Then  I  returned  to  my  se4t 
beside  the  door,  and  saw  the  train  go  by,  with  the  feeling 
of  a  man  who  has  an  appointment  with  a  dentist. 

In  another  hour  came  the  upward  train,  which  would 
carry  me  as  far  as  the  town  of  Manresa,  where  my  doubt- 
ful journey  commenced.  It  was  already  dusk,  and  deli- 
ciously  cool  after  the  fierce  heat  of  the  day.  A  full  moon 
shone  upon  the  opposite  hills  as  I  sped  up  the  valley  of 
*he  Llobregat,  and  silvered  the  tops  of  the  olives  ;  but  I 
.nly  saw  them  in  glimpses  of  unconquerable  sleep,  and 
finally  descended  at  the  station  of  Manresa  not  fully  awake. 

A  rough,  ragged  porter  made  a  charge  upon  my  valise, 
which  I  yielded  to  his  hands.  "  Take  it  to  the  best  hotel," 
I  said.  "  Ah,  that  is  the  '  Chicken  ! ' "  he  replied.  Now,  the 
driver  of  the  omnibus  from  Montserrat  had  recommended 
the  "  San  Domingo,"  which  had  altogether  a  better  sound 
than  the  "  Chicken ;  "  but  I  did  not  think  of  resisting  my 
fate.  I  was  conscious  of  a  wonderful  moonlight  picture,  — 
of  a  town  on  a  height,  crowned  by  a  grand  cathedral ;  of  a 
winding  river  below  ,  of  steep  slopes  of  glimmering  houses ; 
of  lofty  hills,  seamed  with  the  shadows  of  glens :  and  of 
the  sparkle  of  orange-leaves  in  the  hanging  gardens.    Thife 


CATALONIAN  BBIDLE-KOADS.  281 

while  we  were  crossing  a  suspension- bridge  ;  at  the  end,  we 
plunged  into  narrow,  winding  streets,  full  of  gloom  and  dis- 
agreeable odors.  A  few  oil-lamps  burned  far  apart ;  there 
were  lights  in  the  upper  windows  of  the  houses,  and  the 
people  were  still  gossiping  with  their  neighbors.  When 
we  emerged  into  a  plaza,  it  was  more  cheerful ;  the  single 
cafe  was  crowded,  the  estanco  for  the  sale  of  tobacco,  and 
the  barber's  shop  were  still  open.  A  little  farther  and  we 
reached  the  "  Chicken,"  which  was  an  ancient  and  uninvit- 
ing house,  with  a  stable  on  the  ground-floor.  Here  the 
porter  took  his  fee  with  a  grin,  and  saying,  "  You  will  want 
me  in  the  morning ! "  wished  me  good  night 

I  mounted  to  a  dining-room  nearly  fifty  feet  in  length,  in 
which  a  lonely  gentleman  sat,  waiting  for  his  supper.  When 
the  hostess  had  conducted  me  to  a  bedroom  of  equal  dimen- 
sions, and  proceeded  to  put  clean  sheets  upon  a  bed  large 
enough  for  four  Michigan  soldiers,  I  became  entirely  recon- 
ciled to  my  fate.  After  trying  in  vain  to  extract  any  intel- 
ligence from  a  Madrid  newspaper,  I  went  to  bed  and  slept 
soundly ;  but  the  little  imp  was  at  my  ear  when  I  woke,  say- 
ing :  "  Here  you  leave  the  railway ;  after  this  it  will  not  be 
so  easy  to  turn  back."  "  Very  well,"  I  thought,  "  I  will  go 
back  now."  I  opened  the  shutters,  let  the  full  morning  sun 
blaze  into  the  room,  dipped  my  head  into  water,  and  then 
cried  out :  "  Begone,  tempter  !  I  go  forwards."  But,  alas  I 
it  was  not  so  once.  There  is  a  difference  between  spring- 
ing nimbly  from  one's  rest  with  a  "  Hurrah  !  there's  another 
rough  day  before  me !  "  and  a  slow  clinging  to  one's  easy 
pillow,  with  the  sigh,  "  Ah !  must  I  go  through  another 
rough  day  ?  "  However,  that  was  my  last  moment  of  weak- 
ness, and  pliysical  only  —  being  an  outcry  of  the  muscles 
against  the  coming  aches  and  strains,  like  that  of  the  pack- 
camel  before  he  receives  his  load. 

The  first  stage  of  my  further  journey,  I  learned,  could  be 
made  by  a  diligence  which  left  at  eleven  o'clock.  In  the 
mean  time  I  wandered  about  the  town,  gathering  ^n  im- 


2^2  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBOt>fe. 

pression  of  its  character  quite  distinct  from  that  of  the  pre* 
vious  evening.  It  has  no  architectural  monuments ;  for  the 
cathedral,  like  all  such  edifices  in  Spain,  is  unfinished,  inter- 
nally dark,  and  well  supplied  with  bad  pictures.  Its  posi- 
tion, nevertheless,  is  superb,  and  the  platform  of  rock  upon 
which  it  stands  looks  over  a  broad,  bright,  busy  landscape. 
The  sound  of  water-wheels  and  the  humming  looms  of  fac- 
tories fills  the  air ;  however  primitive  the  other  forms  of 
labor  may  be,  the  people  all  seem  to  be  busy.  The  high 
houses  present  an  agreeable  variety  of  color,  although  a 
rich  brown  is  predominant ;  many  of  them  have  balconies, 
and  the  streets  turn  at  such  unexpected  angles  that  light  and 
shade  assist  in  making  pictures  everywhere.  Manresa  has 
a  purely  Spanish  aspect,  and  the  groups  on  the  plaza  and  in 
the  shady  alleys  are  as  lively  and  glowing  as  any  in  Anda- 
lusia. 

I  read  the  history  of  the  place,  as  given  in  the  guide- 
books, but  will  not  here  repeat  it.  According  to  my  En- 
glish guide,  it  was  sacked  and  its  inhabitants  butchered  by 
the  French,  during  the  Peninsular  "War ;  according  to  the 
French  guide,  nothing  of  the  kind  ever  took  place.  As  I 
read  the  books  alternately,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
both  sides  must  have  Jaeen  splendidly  victorious  in  the 
battles  which  were  fought  in  Spain.  When  the  Englishman 
said :  "  Here  our  army,  numbering  only  eighteen  thousand 
men  (of  whom  eight  thousand  were  Spanish  allies,  of  doubt- 
ful service),  encountered  thirty-seven  thousand  French,  and 
completely  routed  them,"  the  Frenchman  had  :  "  Here  our 
army,  numbering  only  fifteen  thousand,  including  seven 
thousand  Spaniards,  put  to  flight  thirty-three  thousand 
English  —  one  of  the  most  brilliant  actions  of  the  war." 
At  this  rate  of  representation,  it  will  be  a  disputed  ques- 
tion, in  the  next  century,  whether  Soult  or  Wellington  was 
driven  out  of  Spain. 

My  porter  of  the  night  before  made  his  appearance,  and 
as  I  had  suspected  him  of  interested  motives  in  condu  ;ting 


CATALONIAN  BRIDLE-ROADS.  288 

me  to  the  "  Chicken,"  I  tested  his  character  bj  giving  a 
smaller  fee  for  an  equal  service  ;  but  he  took  it  with  the  same 
thanks.  Moreover,  the  diligence  office  was  in  the  "  San  Do- 
mingo Hotel,"  and  I  satisfied  myself  that  the  "  Chicken  "  was 
really  better  than  the  Saint.  Two  lumbering  yellow  coaches 
stood  in  the  spacious  stable,  which  was  at  the  same  time  en- 
trance-hall and  laundry.  On  one  side  some  lean  mules  were 
eating  their  barley  ;  on  another,  a  pump  and  stone  trough 
supplied  the  house  with  water ;  a  stone  staircase  led  to  the 
inhabited  rooms,  and  three  women  were  washing  clothes  at 
a  tank  in  the  rear.  Dogs  ran  about  scratching  themselves  • 
country  passengers,  with  boxes  and  baskets,  sat  upon  stone 
posts  and  did  the  same ;  and  now  and  then  a  restless  horse 
walked  forth  from  the  stalls,  snuffing  at  one  person  after 
another,  as  if  hoping  to  find  one  who  might  be  eatable. 
Two  mnyorah  or  coachmen,  followed  by  two  grooms,  bustled 
about  with  bits  of  harness  in  their  hands,  and  the  washer- 
women made  a  great  clatter  with  their  wooden  beetles  ;but 
the  time  passed,  and  nothing  seemed  to  be  accomplished  on 
either  side.  The  whole  scene  was  so  thoroughly  Spanish 
that  no  one  would  have  been  surprised  had  the  Don  and 
Sancho  ridden  into  the  doorway.  One  of  the  women  at  the 
tank  was  certainly  Maritornes. 

At  length,  after  a  great  deal  of  ceremony,  one  of  the 
vehicles  drove  off.  "  It's  going  to  Berga,"  said  a  man  in 
faded  velvet,  in  answer  to  my  question  ;  "  and  all  I  know  is, 
that  that 's  the  way  to  Puigcerda."  The  mules  were  now 
harnessed  to  our  diligence  and  we  took  our  places  —  my 
friend  in  velvet ;  two  stout  women,  one  of  whom  carried 
six  dried  codfish  tied  in  a  bundle  ;  a  shriveled  old  man,  a 
mild  brown  soldier,  and  myself.  It  was  an  hour  behind  the 
appointed  time,  but  no  one  seemed  to  notice  the  delay.  We 
rolled  out  of  the  ammoniated  shadows  of  the  stable  into  a 
blaze  which  was  doubled  on  the  white  highway,  and  thrown 
back  to  us  from  the  red,  scorched  rocks  beside  it.  The 
valley  of  the  Cardoner,  which  we  entered  on  lear  ng  Man 


234  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

resa,  quivered  in  the  breatliless  heat :  the  stream  was  almoal 
exhausted  in  its  bed,  and  the  thin  gray  foliage  of  the  poplari 
and  olives  gave  but  a  mockery  of  shadow.  Everywhere  the 
dry,  red  soil  baked  in  the  sunshine.  Tie  only  refreshing 
thing  I  saw  was  a  break  in  an  irrigating  canal,  which  let 
down  a  cascade  over  the  rocks  into  the  road.  No  water  in 
the  world  ever  seemed  so  cool,  so  fresh,  so  glittering ;  in  the 
thirsty  landscape  it  flashed  like  a  symbol  of  generous,  prod- 
igal life.  Who  could  fling  gold  around  him  with  so  beauti- 
ful a  beneficence  ? 

The  features  of  the  scenery,  nevertheless,  were  too  bold 
and  picturesque  to  be  overlooked.  As  we  gained  a  longer 
vista,  Montserrat  lifted  his  blue  horns  over  the  nearer  hills, 
and  a  dim  streak  of  snow,  far  in  the  northwest,  made  signal 
for  the  Pyrenees.  Abrupt  as  were  the  heights  inclosing  the 
valley,  they  were  cultivated  to  the  summit,  and  the  brown 
country-houses,  perched  on  projecting  spurs,  gave  them  a 
life  which  the  heat  and  thirsty  color  of  the  soil  could  not 
takt  away.  Our  destination  was  Cardona,  and  after  a 
smothering  ride  of  two  hours  we  reached  the  little  village 
of  Suria,  half-way  in  distance,  but  by  no  means  in  time. 
Beyond  it,  the  country  became  rougher,  the  road  steep  and 
toilsome ;  and  our  three  mules  plodded  slowly  on,  with 
drooping  heads  and  tails,'  while,  inside,  the  passengers  nod- 
ded one  after  the  other,  and  became  silent.  We  crossed  the 
Cardoner.  and  ascended  a  long  slope  of  the  hills,  where  the 
view,  restricted  to  the  neighboring  fields,  became  so  monot- 
onous that  I  nodded  and  dozed  with  the  rest. 

We  were  all  aroused  by  the  diligence  stopping  beside  a 
large  farm-house.  There  was  a  general  cry  for  water,  and 
the  farmer's  daughter  presently  came  out  with  a  stone 
pitcher,  cool  and  dripping  from  the  well.  The  glass  was 
first  given  to  me,  as  a  stranger ;  and  I  was  about  setting  it 
to  my  lips,  when  two  or  three  of  the  passengers  suddenly 
cried  out,  "  Stop  !  "  I  paused,  and  looked  around  in  sur- 
prise.    The  man  in  velvet  had  already  dropped  a  piece  of 


CATALONIAN   BRIDLE-ROADS.  286 

sugar  into  the  water,  and  the  old  woman  opj  osite  took  • 
bottle  from  her  basket,  saying,  "  This  is  better !  "  and  adde<? 
a  spoonful  of  anise-seed  brandy.  "  Now,"  exclaimed  both  at 
the  same  time,  "  you  can  drink  with  safety."  The  supply  of 
sugar  and  anise-seed  held  out,  and  each  passenger  was  re- 
galed at  the  expense  of  the  two  Samaritans.  After  this,  con- 
versation brightened,  and  we  all  became  talkative  and  friend- 
ly. The  man  in  velvet,  learning  my  destination,  exclaimed  : 
*'  0,  you  ought  to  have  gone  by  way  of  Berga  !  It  is  a  dread- 
ful country  about  Solsona  and  the  Rio  Segre."  But  the  old 
woman  leaned  over  and  whispered  :  "  Don't  mind  what  he 
says.  I  come  from  Solsona,  and  it's  a  good  country  —  a 
very  good  country,  indeed.     Go  on,  and  you  will  see  !  " 

The  valley  of  the  Cardoner  had  become  narrower,  the 
mountains  were  higher,  and  there  were  frequent  ruins  of 
mediaeval  castles  on  the  summits.  When  we  had  reached 
the  top  of  the  long  ascent,  the  citadel  of  Cardona  in  front 
suddenly  rose  sharp  and  abrupt  over  the  terraced  slopes  of 
vine.  It  appeared  to  be  within  a  league,  but  our  coachman 
was  so  slow  and  the  native  passengers  so  patient,  that  we  did 
not  arrive  for  two  hours.  Drawing  nearer,  the  peculiar  colors 
of  the  earth  around  the  base  of  an  isolated  mountain  an- 
nounced to  us  the  celebrated  salt-mines  of  the  place.  Red, 
blue,  purple,  yellow,  and  gray,  the  bare  cliffs  glittered  in  the 
sun  as  if  frosted  over  with  innumerable  crystals.  This  mas.s 
of  native  salt  is  a  mile  and  a  half  in  circumference,  with  a 
height  of  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  The  action  of 
the  atmosphere  seems  to  have  little  effect  upon  it,  and  the 
labor  of  centuries  has  no  more  than  tapped  its  immense 
stores.  As  in  Wieliczka,  in  Poland,  the  workmen  in  the 
mines  manufacture  cups,  ornaments,  pillars,  and  even  chan- 
deliers, from  the  pure  saline  crystal  —  objects  which, 
although  they  remain  perfect  in  the  dry  atmosphere  of 
Spain,  soon  melt  into  thin  air  when  carried  to  Northern 
lands. 

The  town  of  Cardona  occupies  the  crest  of  a  sharp  \vA\ 


236  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

rising  above  the  mountain  of  salt.  Between  it  and  the  riiwr 

on  the  north,  stands  the  citadel,  still  more  loftily  perchedj 
like  a  Greek  acropolis.  Our  road  passed  entirely  around 
the  latter  and  mounted  to  the  town  on  the  opposite  side, 
where  the  diligence  set  us  down  in  front  of  a  rude  fonda. 
The  old  gate  was  broken  down,  the  walls  ruined,  and  the 
first  houses  we  passed  were  uninhabited.  There  was  no 
longer  an  octroi ;  in  fact,  the  annoyances  of  travel  in  Spain 
diminish  in  proportion  as  one  leaves  the  cities  and  chief 
thoroughfares.  As  I  dismounted,  the  coachman  took  hold 
of  my  arm,  saying,  "  Cavalier,  here  is  a  decent  man  who  will 
get  a  horse  for  you,  and  travel  with  you  to  the  Seo  de  Urgel. 
I  know  the  man,  and  it  is  I  who  reconimend  him."  The  per- 
son thus  introduced  was  a  sturdy,  broad-shouldered  fellow, 
with  short  black  hair,  and  hard,  weather-beaten  features. 
He  touched  his  red  Catalan  cap,  and  then  looked  me  stead- 
ily in  the  face  while,  in  answer  to  my  inquiries,  he  offered  to 
be  ready  at  four  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and  demanded 
six  dollars  for  himself  and  horse,  the  journey  requiring  two 
days.  There  were  two  or  three  other  arrieros  present,  but 
I  plainly  saw  that  none  of  them  would  enter  into  competi- 
tion with  a  man  recommended  by  the  coachn)an.  More- 
over, as  far  as  appearances  went,  he  was  the  best  of  the  lot, 
and  so  I  engaged  him  at  once. 

While  the  fat  hostess  of  the/ortc?a  was  preparing  my  din- 
ner, I  strolled  for  an  hour  or  two  about  the  town.  The 
church  is  renowned  for  having  been  founded  in  the  year 
820,  immediately  after  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors  from  this 
part  of  Spain,  and  for  containing  the  bodies  of  St.  Celadonio 
and  St.  Emeterio  —  whoever  those  holy  personages  may 
have  been.  I  confess  I  never  heard  of  them  before.  What 
I  admired  in  the  church  was  the  splendid  mellow  brown  tint 
of  its  massive  ancient  front.  Brown'  is  the  characteristic 
color  of  Spain,  from  the  drapery  of  Murillo  and  the  walls 
of  cathedrals  to  the  shadow  of  cypresses  and  the  arid  soil 
of  the  hills.     Whether  brightening  into  gold  or  ripenin*? 


CATALONIAl^"   BRIDLE-ROADS. 

into  purple,  it  always  seems  to  give  the  key  of  color.  In 
the  streets  of  Cardona,  it  was  the  base  upon  which  endless 
picturesque  groups  of  people  were  painted,  —  women  spin 
ing  flax,  children  cooling  their  bare  bodies  on  the  stones, 
blacksmiths  and  cobblers  forging  and  stitching  in  the  open 
air  —  all  with  a  keen  glance  of  curiosity,  but  also  a  respect- 
ful greeting  for  the  stranger.  The  plaza,  which  was  called, 
like  all  plazas  in  Catalonia,  de  la  Constitucton,  overhung  the 
deep  ravine  at  the  foot  of  the  salt  mountain.  From  its 
parapet  I  looked  upon  the  vineyard-terraces  into  which  the 
hills  have  been  fashioned,  and  found  them  as  laboriously 
constructed  as  those  of  the  Rheingau.  A  cliff  of  salt  below 
sparkled  like  prismatic  glass  in  the  evening  light,  but  all  the 
nearer  gardens  lay  in  delicious  shadow,  and  the  laden  asses 
began  to  jog  homewards  from  the  distant  fields.  There  was 
a  cafe  on  the  plaza  patronized  only  by  two  or  three  military 
idlers ;  the  people  still  worked  steadily  while  the  daylight 
lasted,  charming  away  their  fatigue  by  the  most  melancholy 
songs. 

The  inn  was  not  an  attractive  place.  The  kitchen  was 
merely  one  corner  of  the  public  room,  in  which  chairs  lay 
overturned  and  garments  tumbled  about,  as  if  the  house 
had  been  sacked.  The  members  of  the  family  sat  and 
chattered  in  this  confusion,  promising  whatever  I  de- 
manded, but  taking  their  own  time  about  getting  it  I  had 
very  meagre  expectations  of  dinner,  and  was  therefore  not 
a  little  surprised  when  excellent  fresh  fish,  stewed  rabbits, 
and  a  roasted  fowl  were  set  successively  before  me.  The 
merry  old  landlady  came  and  went,  anxious  to  talk,  but 
prevented  by  her  ignorance  of  the  pure  Spanish  tongue. 
However,  she  managed  to  make  me  feel  quite  at  home, 
and  well  satisfied  that  I  had  ventured  so  far  into  the  re- 
gion of  ill-repute. 

What  was  going  on  in  the  town  that  night  I  cannot  ima- 
gine ;  but  it  was  a  tumult  of  the  most  distracting  kind. 
First,  there  were  drums  and  —  as  it  seemed  to  me  —  tin 


238  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

pans  beaten  for  an  hour  or  two  in  the  street  below ;  then 
a  chorus  of  piercing,  dreadfully  inharmonious  voices  ;  then 
a  succession  of  short  cries  or  howls,  like  those  of  the 
Driental  dervishes.  Sometimes  the  noises  moved  away, 
and  I  settled  myself  to  sleep,  whereupon  they  came  back 
worse  than  before.  "  0  children  of  Satan  !  "  I  cried,  "  will 
ye  never  be  still  ?  "  Some  time  after  midnight  the  voices 
became  hoarse  :  one  by  one  dropped  off,  and  the  charivari 
gradually  ceased,  from  the  inability  of  the  performers  to 
keep  it  up  longer.  Then  horses  were  led  forth  from  the 
stable  on  the  ground-floor,  whips  were  violently  cracked, 
and  the  voices  of  grooms  began  to  be  heard.  At  three 
o'clock  Juan,  my  new  guide,  came  into  the  room  with  a 
coarse  bag,  in  which  he  began  packing  the  contents  of  my 
valise,  which  could  not  otherwise  be  carried  on  horseback, 
and  so  my  rest  was  over  before  it  had  commenced. 

I  found  the  diligence  about  starting  on  its  return  to 
Manresa,  and  my  horse,  already  equipped,  standing  in  the 
stable.  The  sack,  valise,  and  other  articles  were  so  packed, 
before  and  behind  the  saddle,  that  only  a  narrow,  deep 
cleft  remained  for  me  to  sit  in.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen, 
and  the  morning  air  was  so  cool  that  I  determined  to  walk 
down  the  hill  and  mount  at  the  foot.  Stepping  over  two 
grooms  who  were  lying  across  the  stable  door  on  a  piece  of 
hide,  sound  asleep,  we  set  forth  on  our  journey. 

The  acropolis  rose  dark  against  the  pearly  sky,  and  the 
valley  of  the  Cardoner  lay  cool  and  green  in  the  lingering 
shadows.  Early  as  was  the  hour,  laborers  were  already  on 
their  way  to  the  fields  ;  and  when  we  reached  the  ancient 
bridge  of  seven  arches,  I  saw  the  two  old  ladies  of  Solsona 
in  advance,  mounted  on  mules,  and  carrying  their  baskets, 
boxes,  and  dried  codfish  with  them.  Although  my  French 
guide-book  declared  that  the  road  before  me  was  scarcely 
practicable,  the  sight  of  these  ladies  was  a  better  authority 
to  the  contrary.  I  mounted  at  the  bridge,  and  joined  the 
cavalcade,  which  was  winding  across  a  level  tract  of  land. 


CATALONIAN  BRIDLE-ROADS.  289 

between  walled  fields  and  along  the  banks  of  irrigating 
cands.  Juan,  however,  found  the  mules  too  slow,  and 
soon  chose  a  side-path,  which,  in  the  course  of  a  mile  or 
two,  brought  us  into  the  main  track,  some  distance  in  ad- 
vance of  the  old  ladies.  By  this  time  the  sun  was  up  and 
blazing  on  all  the  hills ;  the  wide,  open  country  about  Car- 
dona  came  to  an  end,  and  we  struck  into  a  narrow  glen, 
covered  with  forests  of  pine.  Juan  directed  me  to  ford 
the  river  and  follow  the  track  on  the  opposite  side,  while 
he  went  on  to  a  foot-bridge  farther  up.  "  In  a  few  mi- 
nutes," he  said,  "  you  will  find  a  carretera"  —  a  cart-road, 
which  proved  to  be  a  superb  macadamized  highway,  yet 
virgin  of  any  wheel.  Men  were  working  upon  it,  smooth- 
ing the  turf  on  either  side,  and  leveling  the  gravel  as  care- 
fully as  if  the  Queen's  mail-coach  travelled  that  way ;  but 
the  splendid  piece  of  workmanship  has  neither  beginning 
nor  end,  and  will  be  utterly  useless  until  it  touches  a  fin- 
ished road  somewhere. 

A  short  distance  farther  the  glen  expanded,  and  I  re- 
crossed  the  river  by  a  lofty  new  bridge.  The  road  was 
carried  over  the  bottom-land  on  an  embankment  at  least 
forty  feet  high,  and  then  commenced  ascending  the  hills 
on  the  northern  bank.  After  passing  a  little  village  on  the 
first  height,  we  entered  a  forest  of  pine,  which  continued 
without  interruption  for  four  or  five  miles.  The  country 
became  almost  a  wilderness,  and  wore  a  singular  air  of 
loneliness,  contrasted  with  the  busy  region  I  had  left  be- 
hind. As  I  approached  the  summit,  the  view  extended 
far  and  wide  over  a  dark,  wooded  sweep  of  hills,  rarely 
broken  by  a  solitary  farm-house  and  the  few  cleared  fields 
around  it.  On  the  nearer  slope  below  me  there  was  now 
and  then  such  a  house ;  but  the  most  of  them  were  in 
ruins,  and  young  pines  were  shooting  up  in  the  deserted 
vineyards.  The  Catalans  are  so  laborious  in  their  habits, 
so  skilled  in  the  art  of  turning  waste  into  fruitful  land, 
that  there  must  have  been   some  special  reason  for  this 


240  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

desolation.     My  guide  either  could  not  or  would  not  es 
plain  it. 

When  we  reached  the  northern  side  of  the  mountain, 
cultivation  aorain  commenced,  and  I  saw  the  process  of 
clearing  woodland  and  preparing  the  soil  for  crops.  The 
trees  are  first  removed,  the  stumps  and  roots  dug  up,  and 
then  all  the  small  twigs,  brambles,  weeds,  and  dry  sticks, 
—  everything,  in  fact,  which  cannot  be  used  for  lumber 
and  firewood,  —  are  gathered  into  little  heaps  all  over  the 
ground,  and  covered  with  the  top  soil.  A  year,  probably, 
must  elapse,  before  these  heaps  are  tolerably  decomposed ; 
then  they  are  spread  upon  the  surface  and  ploughed  under. 
The  virgin  soil  thus  acquired  is  manured  after  every  crop, 
and  there  is  no  such  thing  as  an  exhausted  field. 

The  fine  highway  came  to  an  end  as  suddenly  as  it  had 
commenced,  in  the  rough  forest,  with  no  village  near.  The 
country  became  broken  and  irregular,  and  the  bridle-path 
descended  continually  through  beautiful  groves  of  oak, 
with  an  undergrowth  of  box  and  lavender,  the  odors  from 
which  filled  the  air.  I  was  nearly  famished,  when,  after 
a  journey  of  five  or  six  leagues,  we  emerged  from  the 
woods,  and  saw  the  rich  valley-basin  of  Solsona  before  us, 
with  the  dark  old  town  in  its  centre.  Here,  again,  every 
available  foot  of  soil  was  worked  into  terraces,  drained  or 
irrigated  as  the  case  might  be,  and  made  to  produce  its 
utmost.  As  I  rode  along  the  low  walls,  the  ripe,  heavy 
ears  of  wheat  leaned  over  and  brushed  my  head.  Although 
there  is  no  wheeled  vehicle  —  not  even  a  common  cart  — 
in  this  region,  all  the  roads  being  the  rudest  bridle  paths, 
the  town  is  approached  by  a  magnificent  bridge  of  a  dozen 
arches,  spanning  a  grassy  hollow,  at  the  bottom  of  which 
flows  a  mere  thread  of  a  brook. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  bridge,  a  deserted  gateway 
ushers  the  traveller  into  Solsona.  Few  strangers,  I  sus- 
pect, ever  enter  the  place  ;  for  labor  ceased  as  I  passed 
along  the  streets,  and  even  Don  Basilio,  on  his  way  home 


CATALONIAN   BRIDLE-ROADS.  241 

from  morning  mass,  lifted  his  shovel  hat,  and  bowed  pro- 
found!}. Many  of  the  houses  were  in  ruins,  and  bore  the 
marks  of  fire  and  balls.  I  rode  into  the  ground-floor  of  a 
dark  house  which  bore  no  sign  or  symbol  over  the  doofj 
but  Juan  assured  me  that  it  was  an  inn.  A  portly,  digni- 
fied gentleman  advanced  out  of  the  shadows,  and  addressed 
me  in  the  purest  Castilian  ;  he  was  the  landlord,  and  his 
daughter  was  cook  and  waiting-maid.  The  rooms  above 
were  gloomy  and  very  ancient ;  there  was  scarcely  a  piece 
of  furniture  which  did  not  appear  to  be  two  centuries  old ; 
yet  everything  was  clean  and  orderly. 

"  Can  we  have  breakfast  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Whatever  we  have  is  at  your  disposition,"  said  the  lana- 
lord.     "  What  would  you  be  pleased  to  command  ?  " 

"  Eggs,  meat,  bread,  and  wine  ;  but  nothing  that  cannot 
be  got  ready  in  a  few  minutes." 

The  landlord  bowed,  and  went  into  the  kitchen.  Pres- 
ently he  returned  and  asked,  "  Did  I  imderstand  you  to 
wish  for  meal,  Cavalier  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  have  it,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes,  we  have  it  in  the  house,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  didn't 
know  what  your  custom  was." 

I  did  not  guess  what  he  meant  until  a  plate  of  capital 
mutton-chops  was  smoking  under  my  nose.  Then  it 
flashed  across  my  mind  that  the  day  was  Friday,  and  I  no 
better  than  a  heathen  in  the  eyes  of  ray  worthy  host.  Ac- 
cording to  the  country  custom  of  Spain,  master  and  groom 
fare  alike,  and  .Juan  took  his  seat  beside  me  without  wait- 
ing for  an  invitation.  I  ought  to  have  invited  the  landlord, 
but  I  was  too  hungry  to  remember  it.  To  my  surprise — • 
and  relief  also  —  .Juan  ate  his  share  of  the  chops,  and  there 
was  a  radiant  satisfaction  on  his  countenance.  I  have  no 
doubt  he  looked  upon  me  as  the  responsible  party,  and  did 
not  even  consider  it  worth  while  to  confess  afterwards. 

*♦  You  have  a  beautiful  country  here,"  I  remarked  to  th« 

16 


242  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

landlord,  knowing  that  such  an  expression  is  always  M 
cepted  as  a  half-compliment. 

"  It  is  a  country,"  he  exclaimed  with  energy,  "  que  nada 
falta,  —  which  lacks  nothing !  There  is  everjthiug  you 
want;  there  is  not  a  better  country  under  the  sun  !  No,  it 
is  not  the  country  that  we  complain  of." 

"  What  then  ?  "  I  asked. 

For  a  moment  he  made  no  reply,  then,  apparently  chang- 
ing the  subject,  said,  "  Did  you  see  the  houses  in  ruins  as 
you  came  into  Solsona?  That  was  done  in  the  Carlist 
wars.  We  suffered  terribly  :  nearly  half  the  people  of  this 
region  were  slaughtered." 

"  What  good  comes  of  these  wars  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Is  any- 
thing better  than  it  was  before  ?  What  have  you  to  ofFse* 
all  that  fire  and  murder?  " 

"  That's  it !  "  he  cried ;  "  that  was  what  I  meant." 

He  shook  his  head  in  a  melancholy  way,  drank  a  glass 
of  wine,  and  said,  as  if  to  prevent  my  continuing  the  sub- 
ject :  "  You  xmderstand  how  to  travel,  or  you  would  not 
come  into  such  wild  parts  as  these.  But  here,  instead  of 
having  the  rattling  of  cart-wheels  in  your  ears  all  day,  you 
have  the  songs  of  the  nightingales.  You  don't  have  dust  in 
your  nose,  but  the  smell  of  grain  and  flowers ;  you  can 
start  when  you  please,  &nd  ride  as  far  as  you  like.  That's 
my  way  to  travel,  and  I  wish  there  were  more  people  of  the 
same  mind.  We  don't  often  see  a  foreign  cavalier  in 
Solsona  yet  it's  not  a  bad  country,  as  you  yourself  say." 

By  this  time  Juan  and  I  had  consumed  the  chops  and 
emptied  the  bottle ;  and,  as  there  were  still  six  leagues  to 
be  travelled  that  day,  we  prepared  to  leave  Solsona.  The 
town,  of  barely  two  thousand  inhabitants,  has  an  ancient 
church,  a  deserted  palace  of  the  former  Dukes  of  Cardona, 
and  a  miraculous  image  of  the  Virgin  —  neither  of  which 
things  is  sufficiently  remarkable  in  its  way  to  be  further 
described.  The  age  of  the  place  is  apparent ;  a  dark,  cool, 
mournful  atmosphere  of  the  Past  fills  its  streets,  and  thfl 


CATALONIAN   BRIDLE-ROADS.  24& 

traces  of  recent  war  seem  to  have  been  left  from  medlaeyal 
dnics. 

The  sky  was  partly  overcast,  but  there  was  an  intense, 
breathless  heat  in  the  air.  Our  path  led  across  the  boun- 
teous valley  into  a  wild  ravine,  which  was  spanned  by  two 
ancient  aqueducts.  The  pointed  arch  of  one  of  rtiem 
hinted  of  Moorish  construction,  as  well  as  the  platform  and 
tank  of  a  fountain  in  a  rocky  nook  beyond.  Here  the 
water  gushed  out  in  a  powerful  stream,  as  in  those  foun- 
tains of  the  Anti-Lebanon  in  the  country  of  Galilee. 
Large  plane-trees  shaded  the  spot,  and  the  rocks  overhung 
it  on  three  sides,  yet  no  one  was  there  to  enjoy  the  shade 
and  coolness.  The  place  was  sad,  because  so  beautiful 
and  so  lonely. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  ravine  we  entered  a  forest  of 
pine,  with  an  undergrowth  of  box,  and  commenced  ascend- 
ing the  mountain-range  dividing  the  Valley  of  Solsona  from 
that  of  the  Eio  Salado.  It  might  have  been  the  Lesser 
Atlas,  and  the  sky  that  of  Africa,  so  fierce  was  the  heat,  so 
dry  and  torn  the  glens  up  the  sides  of  which  toiled  my 
laboring  horse.  Birds  and  insects  were  alike  silent :  the 
lizard,  scampering  into  his  hole  in  the  red  bank  of  earth, 
was  the  only  living  thing.  For  an  hour  or  more  we  slowly 
plodded  upward ;  then,  emerging  from  the  pine  wood  upon 
a  barren  sunmiit,  I  looked  far  and  wide  over  a  gray,  for- 
bidding, fiery  land.  Beyond  the  Salado  Valley,  which  lay 
beneath  me,  rose  a  range  of  uninhabited  mountains,  half 
clothed  with  forest  or  thicket,  and  over  them  the  outer 
Pyrenees,  huge  masses  of  bare  rock,  cut  into  sharp,  irreg- 
ular forms.  A  house  or  two,  and  some  cultivated  patches, 
were  visible  along  the  banks  of  the  Salado ;  elsewhere, 
there  was  no  sign  of  habitation. 

The  hajada,  or  descent  to  the  river,  was  so  steep  and 
rough  that  I  was  forced  to  dismount  and  pick  my  way 
down  the  zigzags  of  burning  sand  and  sliding  gravel.  At 
the  bottom  I  forded  the  river,  the  water  of  which  is  saline 


244  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

and  then  hastened  to  a  mill  upon  the  further  bank,  to  pro 
cure  a  cup  of  water.  The  machinery  was  working  in 
charge  of  a  lusty  girl,  who  shut  off  the  water  while  she  ran 
to  a  spring  in  the  ravine  behind,  and  filled  an  earthen  jar. 
There  was  nothing  of  Spanish  grace  and  beauty  about  her. 
She  had  gray  eyes,  a  broad,  flat  nose,  brown  hair,  broad 
shoulders,  and  the  arms  and  legs  of  a  butcher.  But  she 
was  an  honest,  kind-hearted  creature,  and  the  joyous  good- 
will with  which  she  served  me  was  no  less  refreshing  than 
the  water. 

The  patli  now  followed  the  course  of  the  Rio  Salado, 
under  groves  of  venerable  ilex,  which  fringed  the  foot  of 
the  mountain.  Thickets  of  box  and  tamarisk  overhung 
the  stream,  and  the  sight  of  the  water  rushing  and  mur- 
muring through  sun  and  shade,  made  the  heat  more  endur- 
able. Another  league,  however,  brought  me  to  the  little 
hamlet  of  Ojern,  where  my  road  took  to  the  hills  again. 
Nature  has  given  this  little  place  a  bay  of  rich  soil  betweei 
the  river  and  the  mountains,  man  has  blackened  it  with 
fire  and  riddled  it  with  shot ;  and  between  the  two  it  has 
become  a  complete  and  surprising  picture.  Out  of  superb 
gardens  of  orange  and  fig  trees,  over  hedges  of  roses  and 
wild  mounds  of  woodbine,  rise  the  cracked  and  tottering 
walls  —  heaps  of  ruin,  bnt  still  inhabited.  Nothing  could 
be  finer  than  the  contrast  of  the  riotous  vegetation,  strug- 
gling to  grow  away  from  the  restraining  hand  into  its  sav- 
age freedom,  with  the  firm  texture,  the  stubborn  forms  and 
the  dark,  mellow  coloring  of  the  masonry.  Of  course  the 
place  was  dirty,  and  offended  one  sense  as  much  as  it  de- 
lighted the  other.  It  is  a  pity  that  neatness  and  comfort 
cannot  be  picturesque. 

I  knew  that  the  Rio  Segre  could  not  be  very  distant,  but 
1  Ti'as  far  from  guessing  how  much  the  way  might  be 
lengthened  by  heat  and  almost  impracticable  roads.  This 
ascent  was  worse  than  the  former,  since  there-  was  no  forest 
to  throw  an  occasional  shade.     A  scrubby  chaparral  covered 


OAtALONIAN   BRIDLB-EOADS.  246 

die  red  and  flinty  slopes,  upon  which  tlie  sun  beat  until 
the  air  above  them  quivered.  My  horse  was  assailed  with 
a  large  gad-fly,  and  kicked,  stamped,  and  whirled  his  head 
as  if  insane.  I  soon  had  occasion  to  notice  a  physiological 
fact  —  that  the  bones  of  a  horse's  head  are  more  massive 
than  those  of  the  human  shin.  .When  we  reached  the  sum- 
mit of  the  mountain,  after  a  long,  long  pull,  I  was  so 
bruised,  shaken,  and  exhausted  that  Juan  was  obliged  to 
help  me  out  of  the  saddle,  or  rather,  the  crevice  between 
two  piles  of  baggage  in  which  I  was  wedged.  The  little 
imp  came  back  chuckling,  and  said,  "  I  told  you  so !  "  In 
such  cases.  I  always  recall  Cicero's  consolatory  remark,  and 
go  on  my  way  with  fresh  courage. 

Moreover,  far  below,  at  the  base  of  the  bare  peaks  of 
rock  which  rose  against  the  western  sky,  I  saw  the  glitter 
of  the  Rio  Segre,  and  knew  that  my  day's  labor  was  nearly 
at  an  end.  The  descent  was  so  rugged  that  I  gave  the 
reins  to  Juan,  and  went  forward  on  foot.  Aft;er  getting 
down  the  first  steep,  the  path  fell  into  and  followed  the 
dry  bed  of  a  torrent,  which  dropped  rapidly  towards  the 
river.  In  half  an  hour  I  issued  from  the  fiery  ravine,  and 
was  greeted  by  a  breeze  that  had  cooled  its  wings  on  the 
Pyrenean  snow.  Olive-trees  again  shimmered  around  me, 
and  a  valley-bed  of  fruitful  fields  expanded  below.  A  mile 
further,  around  the  crest  of  the  lower  hills,  I  found  myself 
on  a  rocky  point,  just  over  the  town  of  Oliana.  It  was  the 
oldest  and  brownest  place  I  had  seen,  up  to  this  time  ;  but 
there  was  shade  in  its  narrow  streets,  and  rest  for  me  under 
one  of  its  falling  roofs.  A  bell  in  the  tall,  square  tower  of 
the  church  chimed  three ;  and  Juan,  coming  up  with  the 
horse,  insisted  that  I  should  mount,  and  make  my  entrance 
as  became  a  cavalier. 

I  preferred  comfort  to  dignity  ;  but  when  everybody  can 
see  that  a  man  has  a  horse,  he  really  loses  nothing  by 
walking.  The  first  houses  we  passed  appeared  to  be  de* 
ierted ;  then  came  the  main  street,  in  which  work,  gossip 


246  BY-WAYS   OP  EUR3PE. 

and  recreation  were  going  on  in  the  open  air.  Here  there 
was  a  swinging  sign  with  the  word  "  Hostal  "  over  the  inn 
door,  and  most  welcome  was  that  inn,  with  its  unwashed 
floors,  its  fleas,  and  its  odors  of  garlic.  I  was  feverish  with 
the  absorption  of  so  much  extra  heat,  and  the  people 
gave  me  the  place  of  comfort  at  an  open  window,  with  a 
view  of  green  fields  between  the  poplars.  Below  me  there 
was  a  garden  belonging  to  the  priest,  who,  in  cassock  and 
shovel-hat,  was  inspecting  his  vegetables.  Gathering  up 
his  sable  skirts,  he  walked  mincingly  between  the  rows  of 
lettuce  and  cauliflower,  now  and  then  pointing  out  a  lan- 
guishing plant,  which  an  old  woman  in  attendance  then 
proceeded  to  refresh  by  flinging  water  upon  it  with  a  pad- 
dle, from  a  tank  in  a  corner  of  the  garden.  Browning's 
"  Soliloquy  in  a  Spanish  Cloister  "  came  into  ray  head,  and 
I  think  I  should  have  cried  out,  could  the  padre  have  un- 
derstood the  words :  "  O,  that  rose  has  prior  claims !  "  I 
must  say,  however,  that  the  garden  was  admirably  kept, 
and  the  priest's  table  was  all  the  better  for  his  horticultural 
tastes. 

There  were  three  or  four  jolly  fellows  in  the  inn,  who 
might  have  served  in  Sherman's  army,  they  were  so  tall 
and  brown  and  strong.  My  attention  was  drawn  from  the 
priest  by  their  noise  and  laughter,  and  I  found  them  gath- 
ered about  a  wild-looking  man,  dressed  in  rags.  The  lat- 
ter talked  so  rapidly,  in  the  Catalan  dialect,  that  I  could 
understand  very  little  of  what  he  said  ;  but  the  landlady 
came  up  and  whispered,  "  He's  a  loco  (an  idiot),  but  he 
does  no  harm."  To  me  he  seemed  rather  to  be  a  genius, 
with  a  twist  in  his  brain.  He  was  very  quick  in  retort, 
and  often  turned  the  laugh  upon  his  questioner  ;  while 
from  his  constant  appeals  to  "  Maria  Santissima,"  a  strong 
religious  idea  evidently  underlay  his  madness.  The  land- 
lord gave  him  a  good  rneal,  and  he  then  went  on  his  way. 
cheerful,  perhaps  happy,  in  his  isolation. 

I  suppose  Juan  must  have  been  well   satisfied  to  eat 


CATALONIAJS   BRIDLE-ROADS.  247 

meat  on  a  Friday  without  the  sin  being  charged  to  his  per- 
Bonal  account,  and  must  therefore  have  given  a  hint  to  the 
landlord;  for,  without  my  order,  a  chicken  was  set  before 
me  at  dinner,  and  he  took  the  drumsticks  as  of  right 
When  the  sun  got  behind  the  tall  mountain  opposite,  I 
wandered  about  the  town,  seeing  nothing  that  seems  worthy 
of  being  recorded,  yet  every  view  was  a  separate  delight 
which  I  cannot  easily  forget.  There  were  no  peculiarities 
of  architecture  or  of  costume  ;  but  the  houses  were  so 
quaintly  irregular,  the  effects  of  light  and  shade  so  bold 
and  beautiful,  the  colors  so  balanced,  that  each  street  with 
its  inhabitants  might  have  been  painted  without  change. 
There  was  a  group  before  the  shoemaker's  door  —  the 
worknian  on  his  bench,  a  woman  with  a  shoe,  a  young  fel- 
low in  a  scarlet  cap,  who  had  paused  to  say  a  word,  and 
two  or  three  children  tumbling  on  the  stones ;  another  at 
the  fountain  —  women  filling  jars,  coming  and  going  with 
the  load  on  hip  or  head ;  another  at  the  barber's,  and  all 
framed  by  houses  brown  as  Murillo's  color,  with  a  back- 
ground of  shadow  as  rich  as  Rembrandt's.  These  are  sub- 
jects almost  too  simple  to  paint  with  the  pen  ;  they  require 
the  pencil. 

In  the  evening,  the  sultry  vapors  which  had  been  all  day 
floating  in  the  air  settled  over  the  gorge,  and  presently 
thunder-echoes  were  buffeted  back  and  forth  between  the 
rocky  walls.  The  skirts  of  a  delicious  rain  trailed  over  the 
valley,  and  Night  breathed  odor  and  coolness  and  healing 
balsam  as  she  came  down  from  the  western  peaks.  Rough 
and  dirty  as  was  the  guests'  room  of  the  "  hostal,"  my  bed- 
room was  clean  and  pleasant.  A  floor  of  tiles,  a  simple 
iron  washstand  resembling  an  ancient  tripod,  one  chair, 
and  a  bed,  coarsely,  but  freshly  spread  —  what  more  can  a 
reasonable  man  desire  ?  The  linen  (though  it  is  a  bull  to 
say  so)  was  of  that  roughly  woven  cotton  which  one  finds 
only  in  southern  Europe,  Africa,  and  the  Orient,  which  al- 
ways seems  cool  and  clean,  and  has  nothing  in  common 


248  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

with  the  froi.zy,  flimsy  stuff  we  find  in  cheap  places  at 
home.  Whoever  has  slept  in  a  small  new  town  (I  beg  jar< 
don,  "  city  ")  on  an  Illinois  prairie,  knows  the  feeling  of 
soft,  insufficient  sheets  and  flabby  pillows,  all  hinting  of 
frequent  use,  between  which  he  thinks,  ere  sleep  conquers 
his  disgust,  of  the  handkerchief  which  awaits  him  as  towel 
in  the  morning.  In  the  poorest  inn  in  Spain  I  am  better 
lodged  than  in  the  Jimplecute  House  in  Roaring  City. 

Juan  called  me  at  three  o'clock,  for  another  severe  day 
was  before  us.  Our  road  followed  the  course  of  the  Rio 
Segre,  and  there  were  no  more  burning  mountains  to 
climb ;  but  both  M.  de  Lavigne  and  Mr.  Ford,  in  the  little 
which  they  vouchsafed  to  say  of  this  region,  mentioned  the 
frightful  character  of  the  gorges  through  which  the  river 
breaks  his  way  downward  to  the  Ebro ;  and  their  accounts, 
if  the  timid  traveller  believes  them,  may  well  deter  him 
from  making  the  journey.  In  the  cool  half-hour  before 
sunrise,  as  I  rode  across  the  circular  valley,  or  conqtte,  of 
Oliana,  towards  the  gloomy  portals  of  rock  out  of  which 
the  river  issues,  my  spirits  rose  in  anticipation  of  the  wild 
scenery  beyond.  The  vineyards  and  orchards  were  wet 
and  fresh,  and  the  air  full  of  sweet  smells.  Clouds  rested 
on  all  the  stony  summits,  rising  or  falling  as  the  breeze 
shifted.  The  path  moifnted  to  the  eastern  side  of  the 
gorge,  where,  notched  along  the  slanting  rock,  it  became  a 
mere  thread  to  the  eye,  and  finally  disappeared. 

As  I  advanced,  however,  I  found  that  the  passage  was 
less  dangerous  than  it  seemed.  The  river  roared  far 
below,  and  could  be  reached  by  a  single  plunge ;  but  there 
was  a  good,  well-beaten  mule-track  —  the  same,  and  prob- 
ably the  only  one,  which  has  been  used  since  the  first 
human  settlement.  Soon  after  entering  the  gorge,  it  de- 
scended to  within  a  hundred  feet  of  the  river,  and  then 
crossed  to  the  opposite  bank  by  a  bold  bridge  of  a  single 
arch,  barely  wide  enough  for  a  horse  to  walk  upon.  The 
parapet  on  either  side  was  not  more  than  two  feet  Lighf 


CATALOlSiAN    BRIDLE-ROADS.  249 

fend  it  was  not  a  pleasant  sensation  to  look  down  from  the 
saddle  upon  the  roaring  and  whirling  flood.  Yet  the  feel- 
ing was  one  which  must  be  mastered  ;  for  many  a  mile  of 
sheer  precipice  lay  before  me.  The  Segre  flows  through  a 
mere  cleft  in  the  heart  of  the  terrible  mountains,  and  the 
path  continuously  overhangs  the  abyss.  Bastions  of  naked 
rock,  a  thousand  feet  high,  almost  shut  out  the  day ;  and 
the  traveller,  after  winding  for  hours  in  the  gloom  of  theii 
shadows,  feels  as  if  buried  from  the  world. 

The  sides  of  the  gorge  are  nearly  perpendicular,  and  the 
dark  gray  rock  is  unrelieved  by  foliage,  except  where  soil 
enough  has  lodged  to  nourish  a  tuft  of  box ;  yet  here  and 
there,  wherever  a  few  yards  of  less  abrupt  descent  occur, 
in  spots  not  entirely  inaccessible,  the  peasants  have  built 
a  rude  wall,  smoothed  the  surface,  and  compelled  a  scanty 
tribute  of  grass  or  grain.  Tall,  wild-looking  figures,  in 
brown  jackets  and  knee-breeches,  with  short,  broad-bladed 
scythes  flashing  on  their  shoulders,  met  us;  and  as  they 
leaned  back  in  the  hollows  of  the  rock  to  let  us  pass,  with 
the  threatening  implements  held  over  their  heads,  a  very 
slight  effort  of  the  imagination  made  them  more  dangerous 
than  the  gulf  which  yawned  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
path.  They  were  as  rough  and  savage  as  the  scenery  in 
appearance ;  but  in  reality  they  were  simple-hearted,  honest 
persons.  All  that  I  saw  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  part  of 
Catalonia  assured  me  that  I  was  perfectly  safe  among  them. 
After  the  first  day  of  my  journey,  I  gave  up  the  prospect 
of  finding  danger  enough  to  make  an  adventure. 

By  and  by  the  path,  so  lonely  for  the  first  hour  after 
starting,  began  to  be  animated.  The  communication  be- 
tween the  valleys  of  the  Spanish  Pyrenees  and  the  lower 
Segre,  as  far  as  Lerida,  is  carried  on  through  this  defile, 
and  pack-mules  were  met  from  time  to  time.  Juan  walked 
in  advance,  listening  for  the  tinkling  bells  of  the  coming 
animals,  and  selecting  places  were  the  road  was  broad 
enough  for  us  to  puss  without  danger.    Sometimes  I  waited, 


250  BY-WAYS   OP  EUROPE 

sometimes  ,hey  —  one  leaning  close  against  the  rock,  one 
pacing  slowly  along  the  brink,  with  the  river  below  boom* 
ing  into  caverns  cut  out  of  the  interlocking  bases  of  the 
mountains.  As  the  path  sank  or  rose,  accommodating  it 
self  to  the  outline  of  the  cliffs,  and  the  bells  of  the  unseen 
mules  or  horses  chimed  in  front  around  some  comer  of  the 
gorge,  they  chimed  to  my  ears  the  words  of  another,  who 
foresaw  as  well  as  remembered. 

O,  dear  and  distant  Friend  and  Poet !  henceforth  I  shall 
hear  your  voice  in  this  music  of  Spain.  All  that  day,  in 
the  wild  and  wonderful  canons  of  the  Segre,  you  rode  with 
me ;  and  poetical  justice  demanded  that  I  should  have  paid, 
like  Uhland  to  his  boatman,  for  the  other  spirit  who  sat 
upon  my  weary  steed.  I  tried  to  look  with  your  clear  eyes, 
so  quick  to  detect  and  interpret  beauty  ;  and  I  try  now  to 
write  of  the  scenery,  so  that  you  may  behold  it  through 
mine.  As  turn  after  turn  of  the  winding  gorge  disclosed 
some  grander  conformation  of  the  overhanging  heights, 
some  new  pinnacle  of  rock  piercing  the  air,  or  cavern 
opening  its  dark  arch  at  the  base  of  a  precipice,  I  drew 
you  from  your  quiet  cottage  by  the  Merrimack,  and  said,  as 
we  paused  together  in  a  myrtle-roofed  niche  in  the  rocks, 
"  All  this  belongs  to  us,  for  we  alone  have  seen  it ! " 

But,  alas !  how  much  of  subtle  form,  of  delicate  grada- 
tion of  color,  of  fleeting  moods  of  atmosphere,  escapes  us 
when  we  try  to  translate  the  experience  of  the  eyes !  I 
endeavor  to  paint  the  living  and  breathing  body  of  Nature, 
and  I  see  only  a  hard  black  silhouette,  like  those  shadows 
of  grandfathers  which  hang  in  old  country  homes.  Only 
to  minds  that  of  themselves  understand  and  can  guess  is 
the  effort  not  lost.  A  landscape  thus  partly  describes  it- 
self; and  so,  in  this  case,  I  must  hope  that  something  of 
the  grand  and  lonely  valley  of  the  Rio  Segre  may  have 
entered  into  my  words. 

Perhaps  the  best  general  impression  of  the  scenery  may 
be  suggested  by  a  single   peciiliarity     Two  hours  aftef 


CATALONIAN   BBIDLE-ROADS.  251 

entering  the  defile,  I  issued  from  it  into  the  conque  of 
Nargo  —  an  open  circular  basin  some  three  miles  in 
breadth,  beyond  which  the  mountains  again  interlock. 
The  term  conque  (shell  ?)  is  applied  to  these  valleys,  which 
occur  regularly  at  intervals  of  from  six  to  ten  miles ;  and 
their  arrangement  is  picturesquely  described  in  French  as 
as  being  en  chapeht,  for  they  are  literally  strung  like  beads 
on  the  thread  of  the  river.  No  part  of  Europe  is  so  old 
(to  the  eye)  as  these  valleys.  There  seems  to  have  been 
no  change  for  a  thousand  years.  If  the  air  were  not  so 
dry,  one  could  fancy  that  the  villages  would  be  gradually 
buried  under  a  growth  of  moss  and  lichens.  The  brown 
rust  on  their  masonry  is  almost  black,  the  walls  of  the  ter- 
raced fields  are  as  secure  in  their  places  as  the  natural  rock, 
and  the  scars  lefl  by  wars  are  not  to  be  distinguished  from 
those  of  age.  Whenever  there  is  a  surplus  of  population  it 
must  leave,  for  it  cannot  be  subsisted.  There  may  be 
mountain-paths  leading  inland  from  these  valleys,  but  none 
are  visible  ;  each  little  community  is  inclosed  by  a  circle 
of  tremendous  stony  walls  and  pinnacles,  which  the  river 
alone  has  been  able  to  pierce. 

At  the  further  end  of  the  conque  of  Nargo  lay  the  vil- 
lage, perched  upon  a  bold  crag.  Several  sharp,  isolated 
mountains,  resembling  the  horns  and  needles  of  the  Alps, 
rose  abruptly  out  of  the  open  space  ;  and  their  lower  faces 
of  dark  vermilion  rock  made  a  forcible  contrast  with  the 
splendid  green  of  the  fields.  We  did  not  pause  in  the 
village,  but  descended  its  ladder  of  a  street  to  the  river- 
wall,  and  plunged  at  once  into  a  second  gorge,  as  grand 
and  savage  as  the  first,  though  no  more  than  a  league  in 
extent.  Juan  again  went  ahead  and  warned  the  coming 
muleteers.  In  another  hour  I  reached  the  conqv£  of  Or- 
gand,  a  rich  and  spacious  tract  of  land,  with  the  village  of 
tiie  same  name  on  a  rock,  precisely  like  Nargo.  A  high, 
conical  peak  on  the  lefl  appeared  to  be  inaccessible,  yet 
there  was  a  white  chapel  on  its  very  summit  "  Look 
there  ! "  said  Juan,  "  thai  saint  likes  a  cool  place." 


^52  ijV-M  AYS  OF  EUROPE. 

Fine  old  walnut-tree  made  their  appearance  in  thk 
valley  ;  water  was  everywhere  abundant,  and  the  gardens 
through  which  I  approached  the  village  were  filled  with 
shade  and  the  sound  of  streams.  Indeed,  the  terraces  of 
ancient  vines  and  fruit-trees,  mixed  with  cypresses  and 
bosky  alleys  of  flowering  shrubs,  might  have  belonged  to 
the  palaces  of  an  extinct  nobility ;  but  the  houses  which 
followed  were  those  of  peasants,  smoky  with  age,  low,  dark, 
and  dirty.  A  pack  of  school-children,  in  the  main  street, 
hailed  me  with  loud  shouts,  whereat  the  mechanics  looked 
up  from  their  work,  and  the  housewives  came  to  the  doors. 
There  was  a  dusky  inn,  with  a  meek,  pinched  landlady, 
who  offered  eggs  and  a  guisado  (stew)  with  tomatoes. 
While  these  were  cooking,  she  placed  upon  the  table  a 
broad-bellied  bottle  with  a  spout,  something  like  an  old- 
fashioned  oil-can  in  shape.  I  was  not  Catalan  enough  to 
drink  without  a  glass ;  but  Juan  raising  the  bottle  above 
his  head,  spirted  a  thin  stream  of  wine  into  his  open  mouth, 
and  drank  long  and  luxuriously.  When  he  was  satisfied,  a 
dexterous  turn  of  the  wrist  cut  oflP  the  stream,  and  not  a 
drop  was  spilled.  At  the  table,  these  bottles  pass  from 
hand  to  hand  —  one  cannot  say  from  mouth  to  mouth,  for 
the  lips  never  touch  them.  I  learned  to  drink  in  the  same 
fashion  without  much  difficulty,  and  learned  thereby  that 
much  of  the  flavor  of  the  wine  is  lost.  The  custom  seems 
to  have  been  invented  to  disguise  a  bad  vintage. 

While  we  were  breakfasting,  a  French  peasant,  whom  I 
had  seen  at  Oliana,  arrived.  He  was  on  foot,  and  bound 
for  Foix,  by  way  of  Andorra.  This  was  also  my  route,  and 
I  accepted  his  offer  of  engaging  another  horse  for  me  at 
Urgel,  in  the  evening,  and  accompanying  me  over  the  Pyr- 
enees. He  was  not  a  very  agreeable  person,  but  it  was  a 
satisfaction  to  find  some  one  with  whom  I  could  speak.  I 
left  him  at  the  table,  with  a  company  of  Spanish  muleteerSj 
and  never  saw  him  afterwards. 

Before  leaving  Organa,  I  was  stopped  in  the  street  by  • 


CATALONIAN   BRIDLB-ROADS.  258 

man  who  demanded  money,  saying  something  about  the 
"  Pons,"  which  I  could  not  comprehend.  It  fi  lally  oc- 
curred to  me  that  the  defile  through  which  I  was  about  to 
pass  is  named  Los  tres  Pons  (The  Three  Bridges)  on  the 
old  maps  of  Catalonia,  and  that  the  man  was  asking  for 
toll  —  which  proved  to  be  the  case.  The  three  cuartos 
which  1  paid  were  the  veriest  trifle  for  the  privilege  of 
passing  over  such  a  road  as  followed.  The  mountains  were 
here  loftier,  and  therefore  more  deeply  cloven ;  the  former 
little  attempts  at  cultivation  ceased,  for  even  Catalonian 
thrift  shrank  from  wresting  any  profit  out  of  walls  so  bare 
and  bluff  that  scarcely  a  wild  goat  could  cling  to  their 
ledges.  Two  hundred  feet  below,  the  river  beat  against 
the  rocks  with  a  sullen,  mysterious  sound,  while,  from  one 
to  two  thousand  feet  above,  the  jagged  coping  of  the  pre- 
cipices cut  the  sky.  A  cool,  steady  wind  drew  down  the 
cleft,  filling  it  with  a  singular  humming  sound.  The  path 
crossed  to  the  eastern  side  by  a  tremulous  wooden  bridge 
laid  flat  upon  natural  abutments  ;  then,  a  mile  further,  re- 
crossed  by  a  lofty  stone  arch,  under  which  there  was  a 
more  ancient  one,  still  perfect  Several  miles  of  the  same 
wonderful  scenery  succeeded  —  scenery  the  like  of  which 
I  know  not  where  to  find  in  Switzerland.  The  gorge  of 
Gondo,  on  the  Italian  side  of  the  Simplon,  is  similar  in 
character,  but  less  grand  and  majestic.  Far  up  in  the  enor- 
mous cliffs,  I  saw  here  and  there  the  openings  of  cav- 
erns, to  which  no  man  has  ever  climbed ;  cut  into  the 
heart  of  inaccessible  walls  were  unexpected  glens,  green 
nests  of  foliage,  safe  from  human  intrusion,  where  the 
nightingales  sang  in  conscious  security ;  and  there  were 
points  so  utterly  terrible  in  all  their  features  that  the  ex- 
istence of  a  travelled  path  was  the  greatest  wonder  of  all. 
In  the  preceding  defiles.  Nature  had  accidentally  traced 
out  the  way,  but  here  it  had  been  forced  by  sheer  labor 
and  daring.  Sometimes  it  was  hewn  into  the  face  of  the 
upright  rock  ;  sometimes  it  rested  on  arches  built  up  fioro 


254  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

below,  the  worn  masonry  of  which  threatened  to  give  way 
as  I  passed  over.  Now,  fortunately,  the  tinkling  of  mule* 
bells  was  rare,  for  there  were  few  points  where  travellers 
could  safely  meet.  Convulsion  was  as  evident  in  the  struc- 
ture of  the  mountains  themselves  as  in  their  forcible  sep- 
aration. In  some  places  the  perpendicular  strata  were 
curiously  bent,  as  if  the  top  had  cooled  rapidly  and  begun 
to  lean  over  upon  the  fluid  ascending  mass.  The  summits 
assumed  the  wildest  and  most  fantastic  forms,  especially 
about  the  centre  of  the  mountain  range.  When  I  had 
crossed  the  tbird  bridge,  which  is  more  than  a  league 
above  the  second,  the  heights  fell  away,  the  glen  gradually 
opened,  and  I  saw  before  me  the  purple  chain  of  the  Pyr- 
enees, mottled  with  dark  patches  of  forest,  and  crested 
with  snow. 

The  pass  of  The  Three  Bridges  has  its  tragic  episode 
of  recent  history,  in  addition  to  those  which  the  centuries 
have  forgotten.  Here,  forty  years  ago,  the  Count  of  Spain, 
who  governed  Catalonia  in  the  name  of  Ferdinand  VIL, 
was. betrayed  by  his  own  adjutant,  by  whom,  and  by  a  priest 
named  Ferrer,  he  was  murdered.  The  deed  is  supposed  to 
have  been  committed  at  the  instigation  of  Don  Carlos.  A 
stone  was  tied  to  the  corpse,  and  it  was  flung  from  the 
rocks  into  the  torrent  of  the  Segre.  The  place  breathes 
of  vengeance  and  death  ;  and  one  seems  to  inhale  a  new 
air  when  he  emerges  into  the  conque  of  Le  Pla,  after 
being  inclosed  for  two  hours  within  those  terrible  gates. 

It  was  a  double  delight  to  me  to  come  upon  lush  mead- 
ows, and  smell  the  vernal  sweetness  of  the  flowering  grass. 
Leaving  the  river  on  my  left,  I  struck  eastward  along  the 
sides  of  clayey  hills,  with  slopes  of  vine  above  me,  and  the 
broad  green  meadows  below.  The  vegetation  had  already 
a  more  northern  character ;  clumps  of  walnut,  poplar,  and 
willow  grew  by  the  brooksides,  and  the  fields  of  wheat  were 
not  yet  ripe  for  harvest.  I  passed  a  picturesque,  tumbling 
village  called  Arfa,  crossed  the  Segre  for  the  last  time,  and 


CATALONIAN   BRIDLE-ROADS.  266 

flien  rode  onward  into  a  valley  several  miles  in  diameter, 
the  bed  of  which  was  broken  by  rounded  hills.  This  was 
the  Valley  of  Urgel,  or  "  the  See,"  — el  seu,  as  it  is  called 
by  the  people  in  their  dialect.  The  term  recalls  the  days 
when  the  Bishop  was  a  sovereign  prince,  and  his  see  a 
temporal,  as  well  as  ecclesiastical  government. 

Juan  pointed  out  a  fortress  in  advance,  which  I  supposed 
to  be  the  town.  Near  it,  on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  there  was 
a  mass  of  buildings,  baking  in  the  afternoon  sun ;  and  I 
know  not  which  was  most  melancholy,  the  long  lines  of 
cracked,  deserted  ramparts  on  the  hill,  or  the  crumbling, 
uninhabited  houses  on  the  slope  below.  I  did  not  see  six 
persons  in  the  place,  which  was  not  Urgel,  but  Castel 
Ciudad.  The  former  city  is  a  mile  further,  seated  in  the 
centre  of  the  plain.  I  saw,  on  my  left;,  the  mouth  of  a  glen 
of  the  Pyrenees,  and  guessed,  before  the  groom  said  so, 
that  within  its  depths  lay  the  forgotten  Republic  of  An- 
dorra. The  Valira,  the  one  stream  of  the  Republic,  poured 
upon  the  plain  its  cold  green  waters,  which  I  forded,  in 
several  channels,  before  reaching  the  gates  of  Urgel. 

Juan  had  cheered  me  with  the  promise  of  a  good  inn. 
The  exterior  of  the  house  was,  if  anything,  a  trifle  meaner 
than  that  of  the  neighboring  houses  ;  the  entrance  was 
through  a  stable,  and  the  kitchen  and  public  room  very 
dirty  ;  yet,  these  once  passed,  I  entered  a  clean,  spacious, 
and  even  elegant  bedroom.  A  door  therefrom  opened 
upon  a  paved  terrace,  with  a  roof  of  vine  and  a  superb 
view  of  the  Pyrenees  ;  and  hither,  as  I  sat  and  rested  my 
weary  bones,  came  the  landlord,  and  praised  the  country. 
There  was  inexhaustible  coal  in  the  mountains,  he  said  ; 
there  was  iron  in  the  water  ;  the  climate  was  the  best  in 
Spain  ;  people  were  healthy  and  lived  long  —  and  the  only 
thing  wanting  was  a  road  to  some  part  of  the  world. 

The  towns  through  which  I  had  passed  seemed  as  old 
and  lonely  as  any  towns  could  well  be  ;  but  they  are  tame 
beside  the  picturesque  antiquity  of  Urgel.     Nothing  seema 


266  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROfh. 

to  have  been  changed  here  since  the  twelfth  century.  H* 
streets  are  narrow  and  gloomy,  but  almost  every  house 
rests  on  massive  arches,  which  form  continuous  arcades, 
where  the  mechanics  sit  and  ply  their  avocations.  The 
vistas  of  these  arched  passages  are  closed  either  with  a 
single  building  of  very  primitive  and  ponderous  architec- 
ture, or  by  the  stones  of  a  wall  as  old  as  the  times  of  the 
Moors.  The  place  is  like  a  gallery  of  old  sepia  drawings. 
I  attracted  the  usual  wonder,  as  I  loitered  through  the 
gloom  of  the  arcades ;  work  was  suspended  while  I  passed, 
and  tongues  were  silent.  When  I  entered  the  venerable 
cathedral,  which  was  finished  six  hundred  years  ago,  the 
solitary  worshipper  stopped  in  the  midst  of  an  ave,  and 
stared  at  me  with  open  mouth.  The  spacious  Gothic  nave, 
however,  was  less  attractive  than  the  pictures  outside  ;  so  1 
passed  from  the  interior  to  the  exterior  shadows  —  one 
about  as  dense  as  the  other.  Presently  I  came  upon  a 
massive  house,  with  a  magnificent  flat-roofed  arbor  of 
grapes  beside  it,  and  was  saying  to  myself  that  there  was 
one  fortunate  person  in  the  poverty-stricken  capital,  when 
the  door  opened  and  Don  Basilio  came  forth  with  sweeping 
cassock  and  enormous  hat.  A  little  further,  I  found  my- 
self in  a  small  plaza,  one  side  of  which  was  occupied  by  a 
building  resembling  a  fortress.  Over  the  door  I  read  the 
inscription,  "  Priiiceps  soberan  del  Vails  de  Andorra." 
This  was  the  residence  of  the  bishop,  who  claims  the  title 
of  sovereign  of  the  little  republic  ;  his  powers,  in  fact,  being 
scarcely  more  than  nominal. 

I  was  tempted  to  present  myself  to  his  Reverence,  and 
state  my  intention  of  visiting  Andorra  ;  but  my  information 
with  regard  to  the  republic  was  so  vague  that  I  knew  not 
how  such  a  visit  mighi  be  regarded.  I  might  be  creating 
difficulty  where  none  existed.  With  this  prudent  reflec- 
tion I  returned  to  the  inn,  and  engaged  a  fresh  horse  and 
guide  for  the  morrow,  sending  Juan  back  to  Cardona.  It 
was  but  an  hour's  ride,  the  landlord  said,  to  the  frontier 


CATALONIAN   BRIDLE-ROADS.  267 

The  region  of  ill-repute  lay  behind  me ;  the  difficult  bridle- 
roads  were  passed,  and  all  evil  predictions  had  come  to 
naught  By-ways  are  better  than  highways,  and  if  an  in- 
telligent young  American,  who  knows  the  Spanish  language, 
will  devote  a  year  to  the  by-ways  of  Spain,  living  with  the 
people  and  in  their  fashion,  he  will  find  that  all  the  good 
books  of  observation  and  adventure  have  not  yet  bees 
written. 


IT 


THE  REPUBLIC  OF  THE  PYRENEES. 


There  are  remote,  forgotten  corners  of  history  as  there 
are  of  geography.  When  Hal^vy  brought  out  his  opera  Le 
Val  d'Andorre,  the  name  meant  no  more  to  the  most  oi' 
those  who  heard  it  than  the  Valley  of  Rasselas  to  our  ears. 
—  a  sound,  locating  a  fiction.  But  the  critic,  who  must 
seem  to  know  everything,  opened  one  of  his  lexicons,  and 
discovered  that  Andorra  was  an  actual  valley,  buried  in  the 
heart  of  the  Pyrenees.  Furthermore,  he  learned,  for  the 
first  time,  that  its  territory  was  an  independent  republic, 
preserved  intact  since  the  days  of  Charlemagne  ;  that  both 
France  and  Spain,  incredible  as  the  fact  may  appear,  have 
always  scrupulously  respected  the  rights  granted  to  its 
inhabitants  more  than  a  thousand  years  ago.  While  the 
existence  of  every  other  -state  has  in  turn  been  menaced, 
while  hundreds  of  treaties  have  been  made  only  to  be 
broken,  here  is  a  place  where,  like  the  castle  of  the  Sleep- 
ing Beauty,  time  has  stood  still,  and  History  shut  up  her 
annals. 

Napoleon,  when  a  deputation  from  the  little  republic 
visited  him  in  Paris,  said :  "  I  have  heard  of  this  Andorra, 
and  have  purposely  abstained  from  touching  it,  because  1 
thought  it  ought  to  be  preserved  as  a  political  curiosity." 
Louis  Philippe,  thirty  years  later,  exclaimed  :  "  What !  is  it 
possible  that  I  have  a  neighbor  whose  name  I  never  heard 
before  ?  "  I  suspect  that  the  name  of  Andorra  on  the  ex- 
cellent German  maps,  which  overlook  nothing,  was  the 
first  indication  of  the  existence  of  the  state  to  many  of  those 
who  are  now  acquainted  with  it.  It  was  so  in  my  case. 
From  noting  its  position,  and  seeing  its  contracted  bound- 
aries, so  carefully  marked  out,  I  went  further,  and  picked 


262  BY-WAYS   OF   EUEOPE. 

up  what  fragments  of  information  could  be  found  in  French 
and  Gernjan  geographical  works.  These  were  sufficiently 
curious  to  inspire  me  with  the  design  of  visiting  the  valley. 

On  reaching  Urge!,  in  the  Spanish  Pyrenees,  I  was 
within  a  league  of  the  Andorran  frontier.  My  way  thither 
lay  through  the  deep  gorge  out  of  which  the  river  Valira 
issues,  on  its  way  to  the  Segre.  The  bald,  snow-streaked 
summits  in  the  north  belonged  to  the  territory  of  the  I'e- 
public,  but  whatever  of  life  and  labor  it  contained  was 
buried  out  of  sight  in  their  breast  Nevertheless,  the 
vague  and  sometimes  threatening  reports  of  the  people 
which  had  reached  me  at  a  distance  here  vanished.  Every- 
body knew  Andorra,  and  spoke  well  of  it.  I  had  some 
difficulty  in  finding  a  horse,  which  the  landlord  declared 
was  on  account  of  the  unpractical  shape  and  weight  of  my 
valise  ;  but,  when  I  proposed  going  on  foot,  an  animal  was 
instantly  produced.  The  arrieros  could  not  let  a  good 
bargain  slip  out  of  their  hands. 

It  was  a  wonderful  morning  in  mid  June.  The  shadow 
of  the  Pyrenees  still  lay  cool  upon  the  broad  basin  of 
Urgel ;  but  the  brown  ramparts  of  Castel  Ciudad  on  the 
rocks,  and  all  the  western  heights,  sparkled  in  sunshine. 
I  found  a  nimble  mouptain  pony  waiting  for  me  at  the  door 
of  the  inn,  and  Julian,  my  guide,  a  handsome  fellow  of 
twenty,  in  rusty  velvet  jacket  and  breeches,  and  scarlet 
Phrygian  cap.  A  skin  as  brown  as  an  Arab's ;  an  eye  full 
of  inexpressible  melancholy  ;  a  grave,  silent,  but  not  gloomy 
nature  —  all  these  had  Julian ;  yet  he  was  the  very  com- 
panion for  such  a  journey.  He  strode  from  the  gate  of 
Urgel  with  a  firm,  elastic  step,  and  I  followed  through  the 
gray  olive  orchards  across  the  plain.  The  lower  terraces 
of  the  mountain  were  silvery  with  the  olive ;  but  when 
the  path  turned  into  the  gorge  of  the  Valira,  the  landscape 
instantly  changed.  On  one  side  rose  a  rocky  wall ;  on  the 
other,  meadows  of  blossoming  grass,  divided  by  thickets  of 
alder  and  willow,  slanted  down  to  the  rapid  stream,  the 


Tm    REPUBIIC   OF  THE   PYRENEE.i.  208 

noise  of  which  could  scarcely  be  heard  for  the  songs  of  the 
nightingales.  Features  like  these,  simple  as  they  may 
seem,  sometimes  have  a  singular  power  to  warm  one's  an- 
ticipations of  what  lies  beyond.  There  is  a  promise  in 
certain  scenery  ;  wherein  it  exists  I  cannot  tell,  but  I  have 
felt  it  frequently,  and  have  never  yet  been  disappointed. 

After  I  had  threaded  the  gorge  for  two  miles,  it  expanded 
into  a  narrow  valley,  where  the  little  Spanish  village  of 
Arcacel  lay  huddled  among  the  meadows.  Beyond  it,  the 
mountains  closed  together  again,  forming  an  almost  impas- 
sable canon,  along  the  sides  of  which  the  path  was  labo- 
riously notched.  There  were  a  great  many  people  abroad, 
and  Julian  was  obliged  to  go  in  advance,  and  select  spots 
where  my  horse  could  pass  their  mules  without  one  or  the 
other  being  pushed  into  the  abyss  below.  Some  of  those 
I  met  were  probably  Andorrans,  but  I  found  as  yet  no 
peculiarities  of  face  or  costume.  This  is  the  only  road 
from  Spain  into  the  republic,  and  is  very  rarely,  if  ever, 
traversed  by  a  foreign  tourist.  The  few  persons  who  have 
visted  Andorra,  made  their  way  into  the  valley  from  the 
side  of  France. 

As  I  rode  forward,  looking  out  from  time  to  time,  for 
some  mark  which  would  indicate  the  frontier,  I  recalled 
what  little  I  had  learned  of  the  origin  of  the  republic. 
There  is  not  much  which  the  most  patient  historian  could 
establish  as  positive  fact ;  but  the  traditions  of  the  people 
and  the  few  records  which  they  have  allowed  to  be  pub- 
lished run  nearly  parallel,  and  are  probably  as  exact  as 
most  of  the  history  of  the  ninth  century.  On  one  point 
all  the  accounts  agree  —  that  the  independence  of  the  val- 
ley sprang  indirectly  from  the  struggle  between  the  Franks 
and  Saracens.  When  the  latter  possessed  themselves  of  the 
Peninsula,  in  the  beginning  of  the  eighth  century,  a  rem- 
nant of  the  Visigoths  took  refuge  in  this  valley,  whence, 
later,  tiiey  sent  to  Charlemagne,  imploring  assistance. 
After  Catalonia  had  been  leconquered,  the  Emperor  —  so 


264  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

runs  the  popular  tradition  —  gave  them  the  valley  as  a  r» 
ward  for  their  bravery  in  battle.  The  more  probable  ac- 
count is,  that  Charlemagne  sent  his  son,  Louis  le  Debon- 
naire,  who  followed  the  last  remnants  of  the  Saracen  army 
up  the  gorge  of  the  Valira,  and  defeated  them  on  the  spot 
where  the  town  of  Andorra  now  stands.  After  the  victory 
he  gave  the  valley  to  certain  of  his  soldiers,  releasing  them 
from  all  allegiance  except  to  himself.  This  was  in  the 
year  805.  What  is  called  the  "  Charter  of  Charlemagne," 
by  some  of  the  French  writers,  is  evidently  this  grant  of 
his  son. 

Within  the  following  century,  however,  certain  difficulties 
arose,  which  disturbed  the  inhabitants  of  the  little  state  less 
than  their  powerful  neighbors.  Charlemagne  had  pre- 
viously given,  it  appears,  the  tithes  of  all  the  region  tc 
Possidonius,  Bishop  of  Urgel,  and  the  latter  insisted  on 
retaining  his  right.  Moreover,  Charles  the  Bald,  in  843, 
presented  to  Siegfrid,  Count  of  Urgel,  the  right  of  sove- 
reignty over  Andorra,  which  Louis  le  D^bonnaire  had  re- 
served for  himself  and  his  successors.  Thus  the  spiritual 
and  temporal  lords  of  Urgel  came  in  direct  conflict,  and 
the  question  remained  undecided  for  two  centuries ;  the 
Andorrans,  meanwhile,^  quietly  attending  to  their  own  af- 
fairs, and  consolidating  the  simple  framework  of  their  gov- 
ernment. Finally,  at  the  consecration  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Urgel,  in  the  year  1040,  the  widowed  Countess  Constance 
publicly  placed  the  sovereignty  claimed  by  her  house  in  the 
hands  of  Bishop  Heribald.  (How  curious  it  seems  to  find 
the  name  of  Garibaldi  occurring  in  this  obscure  history  !) 
But  this  gift  of  Constance  was  not  respected  by  her  suc- 
cessors, and  the  trouble  broke  out  anew  in  the  following 
century.  We  have  but  a  meagre  chain  of  detached  inci- 
dents, yet  what  passion,  what  intrigue,  what  priestly  thirst 
of  power  and  jealous  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  nobles 
are  suggested,  as  we  follow  the  scanty  record !  The 
Bishop  of  Urgel  triumphs  to  this  day,  as  he  reads  the  in 


THE   REPUBLIC   OF  THE  PYRENEES.  265 

Bcriptlon  over  his  palace-door :  "  Princeps  soberan  del  Vails 
de  Andorra." 

At  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century,  Arnald,  Count  of 
Castelbo,  purchased  certaia  privileges  in  the  valley  from 
Ermengol,  Count  of  Urgel.  The  sale  was  resisted  by  the 
bishop,  and  a  war  ensued,  in  which  the  latter  was  defeated. 
Raymond-Roger,  Count  of  Foix,  was  then  called  to  aid  the 
episcopal  cause  —  his  promised  reward  being  a  share  in 
the  sovereignty  of  Andorra,  the  territory  of  which  bordered 
his  own.  Notwithstanding  he  was  victorious,  having  taken 
and  sacked  the  city  of  Urgel,  he  seems  to  have  considered 
his  claim  to  the  reward  still  insecure.  In  the  year  1202 
he  married  his  son  and  successor,  Roger-Bernard  II.,  to 
the  daughter  and  only  child  of  the  Count  of  Castelbo. 
Thus  the  Bishop  of  Urgel  saw  the  assumption  of  sove- 
reignty which  he  had  resisted  transferred  to  the  powerful 
house  of  Foix.  It  is  stated,  however,  that,  in  all  the  wars 
which  followed,  both  parties  refrained  from  touching  the 
disputed  territory,  in  order  that  the  value  of  the  revenue 
expected  from  it  might  not  be  diminished.  The  Andor- 
rans  themselves,  though  certainly  not  unconcerned,  re- 
mained perfectly  passive.  The  fastnesses  of  the  Pyrenees 
on  all  sides  of  them  resounded  with  the  noise  of  war,  while 
they,  one  generation  after  another,  tended  their  flocks  and 
cultivated  their  fields. 

The  quarrel  (and  it  is  almost  the  end  of  all  history  re- 
lating to  Andorra)  came  to  a  close  in  the  year  1278. 
Roger-Bernard  III.  of  Foix,  before  the  gates  of  Urgel, 
which  must  soon  have  yielded  to  him,  accepted  the  pro- 
posal for  an  arbitration  —  Don  Pedro  of  Aragon  having 
offered  his  name  as  security  for  tho  fulfillment  of  the  terms 
which  might  be  agreed  upon.  Two  priests  and  four  knights 
were  the  arbitrators;  and  the  Pariatges  (Partitions)  which 
they  declared  on  the  7th  of  September  of  the  year  already 
mentioned  settled  the  question  of  the  sovereignty  of  An- 
dorra from  that  day  to  this.     Its  principal  features  were 


266  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

that  a  slight  tribute  should  be  paid  by  the  people,  on  alter 
nate  years,  to  the  Counts  of  Foix  and  the  Bishops  of  Urgel 
and  that  certairt^fficials  of  the  Valley  should,  in  like  man* 
ner,  be  named  alternately  by  the  two  parties.  In  all  other 
respects,  the  people  were  left  free.  The  neutrality  of  their 
territory,  which  had  been  so  marvelously  preserved  for 
four  centuries  and  a  half,  was  reaffirmed  ;  and  it  has  never 
since  been  violated.  During  the  wars  of  Napoleon,  a 
French  army  appeared  on  the  frontiers  of  the  republic 
with  the  intention  of  marching  through  it  into  Spain ;  but 
on  the  judges  and  consuls  representing  to  the  commanding 
general  the  sacred  neutrality  of  their  valley,  he  turned 
about  and  chose  another  route. 

The  house  of  Foix  became  merged  in  that  of  B^arn,  and 
the  inheritance  of  the  latter,  in  turn,  passed  into  the  hands 
of  the  Bourbons.  Thus  the  crown  of  France  succeeded  to 
the  right  reserved  by  Louis  le  Debonnaire,  and  presented 
by  Charles  the  Bald  to  Siegfrld,  Count  of  Urgel.  The 
Andorrans,  who  look  upon  their  original  charter  as  did 
the  Hebrews  on  their  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  consider  that 
the  Pariatges  are  equally  sanctioned  by  time  and  the  favor 
of  God  ;  and,  so  far  from  feeling  that  the  tribute  is  a  sign 
of  subjection,  they  consider  that  it  really  secures  their  in- 
dependence. They  therefore  do  not  allow  the  revolutions, 
the  change  of  dynasties  which  France  has  undergone,  to 
change  their  relation  to  the  governing  power.  They  were 
filled  with  dismay,  when,  in  1793,  the  representative  of  the 
French  Republic  in  Foix  refused  to  accept  the  tribute,  on 
the  ground  that  it  was  a  relic  of  the  feudal  system.  For 
six  or  seven  years  thereafter  they  feared  that  the  end  of 
things  was  at  hand  ;  but  the  establishment  of  the  Empire, 
paradoxical  as  it  may  appear,  secured  to  them  their  repub- 
lic. They  seem  never  to  have  considered  that  the  refusal 
of  the  French  authorities  gave  them  a  valid  pretext  io 
cease  the  further  paym'ent  of  the  tribute. 

This  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  the  history  of  Andorra 


THE  REPUBLIC  OF  IHE  PYBENEES.  267 

No  one  can  help  feeling  that  a  wholly  exceptional  fortune 
has  followed  this  handful  of  people.  All  other  rights  given 
by  Charlemagne  and  his  successors  became  waste  paper 
long  since  •  the  Counts  of  Urgel,  the  houses  of  Foix  and 
Beam,  have  disappeared,  and  the  Bourbous  have  ceased  to 
reign  in  France,  —  yet  the  government  of  the  little  re- 
public preserves  the  same  forms  which  were  established  in 
the  ninth  century,  and  the  only  relations  ^hich  at  present 
connect  it  with  the  outer  world  date  from  the  year  1278. 
I  endeavored  to  impress  these  facts  upon  my  mind,  as  the 
gorge  opened  into  a  narrow  green  valley,  blocked  up  in 
front  by  the  Andorran  mountains.  I  recalled  that  pic- 
turesque legend  of  the  knight  of  the  Middle  Ages,  who, 
penetrating  into  some  remote  nook  of  the  Apennines,  found 
a  forgotten  Roman  city,  where  the  people  still  kept  their 
temples  and  laid  their  offerings  on  the  altars  of  the  gods. 
The  day  was  exquisitely  clear  and  sunny;  the  breezes  of 
the  Pyrenees  blew  away  every  speck  of  vapor  from  the 
mountains,  but  I  saw  everything  softly  through  that  veil 
which  the  imagination  weaves  for  us. 

Presently  we  came  upon  two  or  three  low  houses.  At 
the  door  of  the  furthest  two  Spanish  soldiers  were  standing, 
one  of  whom  stepped  forward  when  he  saw  me.  A  picture 
of  delay,  examination,  bribery,  rose  in  my  mind.  I  as- 
sumed a  condescending  politeness,  saluted  the  man  gravely, 
and  rode  forward.  To  my  great  surprise  no  summons  fol- 
lowed. I  kept  on  my  way  without  looking  back,  and  in 
two  minutes  was  out  of  Spain.  Few  travellers  have  ever 
left  the  kingdom  so  easily. 

The  features  of  the  scenery  remained  the  same  —  nar- 
row, slanting  shelves  of  grass  and  grain,  the  Valira  foam- 
ing below,  and  the  great  mountains  of  gray  rock  towering 
into  the  sky.  In  another  half-hour  I  saw  the  little  town 
of  San  Julian  de  Loria,  one  of  the  six  municipalities  of 
Andorra.  As  old  and  brown  as  Urgel,  or  the  villages 
along  the  Rio  Segre,  it  was  in  no  \vise  to  be  distinguished 


268  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

fix)m  them.  The  massive  stone  walls  of  the  houses  were 
nearly  black ;  the  roofs  of  huge  leaves  of  slate  were  cov- 
ered with  a  red  rust ;  and  there  were  no  signs  that  any- 
thing had  been  added  or  taken  away  frcm  the  place  foi 
centuries.  As  my  horse  clattered  over  the  dirty  paving- 
stones,  mounting  the  one  narrow,  twisted  street,  the  people 
came  to  the  doors,  and  looked  upon  me  with  a  grave  curi- 
osity. I  imagined  at  once  that  they  were  different  from 
the  Catalans,  notwithstanding  they  spoke  the  same  dialect, 
and  wore  very  nearly  the  same  costume.  The  expression 
of  their  faces  was  more  open  and  fearless  ;  a  cheerful  gravity 
marked  their  demeanor.  I  saw  that  they  were  both  self- 
reliant  and  contented. 

While  Julian  stopped  to  greet  some  of  his  friends,  I  rode 
into  a  very  diminutive  plaza,  where  some  thirty  or  forty  of 
the  inhabitants  were  gossiping  together.  An  old  man, 
dressed  in  pale  blue  jacket  and  knee-breeches,  with  a  red 
scarf  around  his  waist,  advanced  to  meet  me,  lifting  his 
scarlet  cap  in  salutation. 

"  This  is  no  longer  Spain  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  is  neither  France  nor  Spain,"  said  he ;"  it  is  An- 
lorra." 

"The  Republic  of  Andorra?" 

"  They  call  it  so."    , 

"  I  am  also  a  citizen  of  a  republic,"  I  then  said ;  but, 
although  his  interest  was  evidently  excited,  he  asked  me  no 
questions.  The  Andorran  reserve  is  proverbial  throughout 
Catalonia ;  and  as  I  had  already  heard  of  it,  I  voluntarily 
gave  as  much  information  respecting  myself  as  was  neces- 
sary. A  number  of  men,  young  and  old,  had  by  this  time 
collected,  and  listened  attentively.  Those  who  spoke  Span- 
ish mingled  in  the  conversation,  which,  on  my  part,  was 
purposely  guarded.  Some  degree  of  confidence,  however 
seemed  to  be  already  established.  They  told  me  that  they 
were  entirely  satisfied  with  their  form,  of  government 
and  their  secluded  life  ;  that  they  were  poor,  but  much 


THE  REPUBLIC   OF  THE  PYBENEES.  269 

wealth  would  be  of  no  service  to  them,  and,  moreovei 
(which  was  true),  that  they  were  free  because  they  were 
poor.  When  Julian  appeared,  he  looked  with  surprise  upon 
the  friendly  circle  around  me,  but  said  nothing.  It  was  still 
two  hours  to  Andorra  la  VeUx  (Old  Andorra),  the  capital, 
which  I  had  decided  to  make  my  first  resting-place ;  so  T 
said,  "  Adios ! "  —  all  the  men  responding,  "  Dios  guarda  ! " 

Beyond  the  village  I  entered  upon  green  meadow-land, 
shaded  by  grand  walnut-trees,  mounds  of  the  richest  fo- 
liage. The  torrent  of  Avina  came  down  through  a  wild 
glen  on  the  left,  to  join  the  Valira,  and  all  the  air  vibrated 
with  the  sound  of  waters  and  the  incessant  songs  of  the 
nightingales.  People  from  the  high,  imseen  mountain 
farms  and  pasture-grounds  met  me  on  their  way  to  San 
Julian  ;  and  their  greeting  was  always  "  God  guard  you  !  " 
—  hinting  of  the  days  when  travel  was  more  insecure  thati 
now.  When  the  mountains  again  contracted,  and  the  path 
clung  to  the  sides  of  upright  mountain  walls,  Julian  wenc 
in  advance,  and  warned  the  coming  muleteers.  Vegetation 
ceased,  except  the  stubborn  clumps  of  box,  which  had  fas- 
tened themselves  in  every  crevice  of  the  precipices ;  and 
the  nightingales,  if  any  had  ventured  into  the  gloomy  gorge, 
were  silent.  For  an  hour  I  followed  its  windings,  steadily 
mounting  all  the  while ;  then  the  rocks  began  to  lean  away, 
the  smell  of  flowering  grass  came  back  to  the  air,  and  I 
saw,  by  the  breadth  of  blue  sky  opening  ahead,  that  we 
were  approaching  the  Valley  of  Andorra. 

The  first  thin^  that  met  my  eyes  was  a  pretty  pastoral 
picture.  Some  rills  from  the  melting  snows  had  been  caught 
and  turned  into  an  irrigating  canal,  the  banks  of  which 
were  so  overgrown  with  brambles  and  wild-flowers  that  it 
had  become  a  natural  stream.  Under  a  gnarled,  wide- 
armed  ilex  sat  a  father,  with  his  two  youngest  children  ;  tvvc 
older  ones  gathered  flowers  in  the  sun  ;  and  the  mother, 
with  a  basket  in  her  hand,  paused  to  look  at  me  in  the 
meadow  below.     The  little  ones  laughed  and  shouted ;  the 


2t0  BY-WAYS  OF  EUBOPK. 

father  watched  them  with  bright,  happy  eyes,  and  over  and 
around  them  the  birds  sang  without  fear.  And  this  is  the 
land  of  smugglers  and  robbers !  I  thought  Turning  in 
the  saddle,  I  watched  the  group  as  long  as  it  was  visible. 

"When  I  set  my  face  forward  again,  it  was  with  a  sudden 
catch  of  the  breath  and  a  cry  of  delight.  The  promise  of 
the  morning  was  fulfilled  ;  beautiful  beyond  anticipation 
was  the  landscape  expanded  before  me.  It  was  a  valley 
six  miles  in  length,  con)pletely  walled  in  by  immense  moun- 
tains, the  bases  of  which,  withdrawn  in  the  centre,  left  a 
level  bed  of  meadows,  nearly  a  mile  broad,  watered  by  the 
winding  Valira.  Terraces  of  grain,  golden  below,  but  still 
green  above,  climbed  far  up  the  slopes  ;  then  forest  and 
rock  succeeded  ;  and  finally  the  gray  pinnacles,  with  snow 
in  their  crevices,  stood  mantled  in  their  own  shadows. 
Near  the  centre  of  the  valley,  on  a  singular  rocky  knoll, 
the  old  houses  and  square  tower  of  Andorra  were  perched, 
as  if  watching  over  the  scene.  In  front,  where  the  river 
issued  from  a  tremendous  split  between  two  interlocking 
mountains,  I  could  barely  distinguish  the  houses  of  Escal- 
das  from  the  cliffs  to  which  they  clung.  Nothing  could  be 
simpler  and  grander  than  the  large  outlines  of  the  scene, 
nothing  lovelier  than  its  minuter  features,  —  so  wonderfully 
suggesting  both  the  garden  and  the  wilderness,  the  fresh 
green  of  the  North  and  the  hoary  hues  and  antique  forms 
of  the  South.  Brimming  with  sunshine  and  steeped  in 
delicious  odors,  the  valley  —  after  the  long,  dark  gorge  I 
had  threaded  —  seemed  to  flash  and  sparkle  with  a  light 
unknown  to  other  lands. 

Shall  I  ever  forget  the  last  three  miles  of  my  journey  ? 
Crystal  waters  rushed  and  murmured  beside  my  path ; 
great  twisted  ilex-trees  sprang  from  the  masses  of  rock  j 
mounds  of  snowy  eglantine  or  purple  clematis  crowned  the 
cliffs  or  hung  from  them  like  folded  curtains ;  and  the  dark 
shadows  of  walnut  and  poplar  lay  upon  the  lush  fields  of 
grass  and  flowers.     The  nightingale  and  thrush  sang  M 


THE  REPUBLIC   OF   THE    PIRENEES.  271 

die  earth,  and  the  lark  in  the  air  ;  and  even  the  melan- 
choly chant  of  the  young  farmer  in  his  fields  seemed  to  be 
only  that  soft  undercurrent  of  sadness  which  was  needed 
to  make  the  brightness  and  joy  of  the  landscape  complete 

Climbing  the  rocks  to  the  capital,  I  was  pleasantly  sur- 
prised  to  see  the  sign  "  Hostal "  before  I  had  made  more 
than  two  turns  of  the  winding  street.  The  English  guides, 
both  for  France  and  Spain,  advise  the  adventurous  tourist 
who  wishes  to  visit  Andorra  to  take  his  provender  with 
him,  since  riothing  can  be  had  in  the  valley.  A  friendly 
host  can»e  to  the  door,  and  welcomed  me.  Dinner,  he  said, 
would  be  ready  in  an  hour  and  a  half;  but  the  appearance 
of  the  cheerful  kitchen  into  which  I  was  ushered  so  pro- 
voked my  already  ravenous  hunger  that  an  omelette  was 
made  instantly,  and  Julian  and  I  shared  it  between  us. 
An  upper  room,  containing  a  coarse  but  clean  bed,  which 
barely  found  room  for  itself  in  a  wilderness  of  saddles  and 
harness,  was  given  to  me,  and  I  straightway  found  myself 
at  home  in  Andorra.     So  much  for  guidebooks ! 

I  went  forth  to  look  at  the  little  capital  before  dinner. 
Its  population  is  less  than  one  thousand  ;  the  houses  are 
built  of  rudely  broken  stones  of  schist  or  granite,  and 
roofed  with  large  sheets  of  slate.  The  streets  seem  to 
have  been  originally  located  where  the  surface  of  the  rock 
rendered  them  possible ;  but  there  are  few  of  them,  and 
what  the  place  has  to  show  may  be  speedily  found.  I  felt 
at  once  tlie  simple,  friendly,  hospitable  character  of  the 
people  :  they  saluted  me  as  naturally  and  genially  as  if  I 
had  been  an  old  acquaintance.  Before  I  had  rambled 
many  minutes,  I  found  myself  before  the  Casa  del  Vails, 
the  House  of  Government.  It  is  an  ancient,  cracked  build- 
ing, but  when  erected  I  could  not  ascertain.  The  front  is 
simple  and  massive,  with  three  irregular  windows,  and  a 
large  arched  entrance.  A  tower  at  one  corner  threatens 
to  fall  from  want  of  repair.  Over  the  door  is  the  inscrip- 
tion :    "  Domus  consilii,  sedes  justitiae."     There   is  also  8 


272  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

marble  shield,  containing  the  arms  of  the  Republic,  and 
apparently  inserted  at  a  more  recent  date.  The  shield  is 
quartered  with  the  mitre  and  crosier  of  the  Bishop  of  Ur 
gel,  the  four  crimson  bars  of  Catalonia,  the  three  bars  on 
an  azure  field  of  Foix,  and  the  cows  of  B^am.  Under  the 
shield  is  sculptured  the  Latin  verse  :  — 

"  Suspice  :  sunt  vallis  neutrius  stemmata  ;  sunt  qoe 
Regna,  quibus  gaudent  nobiliora  tegi  : 
Singula  si  populos  alios,  Andorra,  beabunt, 
Quidni  juncta  ferent  aurea  secla  tibi  !  " 

I  suspect,  although  I  have  no  authority  for  saying  so,  that 
this  verse  comes  from  Fiter,  the  only  scholar  Andorra  ever 
produced,  who  flourished  in  the  beginning  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. The  ground-floor  of  the  building  consists  of  stables, 
where  the  members  of  the  council  lodge  their  horses  when 
they  meet  officially.  A  tumbling  staircase  leads  to  the 
second  story,  which  is  the  council-hall,  containing  a  table 
and  three  chairs  on  a  raised  platform,  a  picture  of  Christ 
between  the  windows,  and  oaken  benches  around  the  walls. 
The  great  object  of  interest,  however,  is  a  massive  chest, 
built  into  the  wall,  and  closed  with  six  strong  iron  locks, 
connected  by  a  chain.  This  contains  the  archives  of  An- 
dorra, including,  as  the  people  devoutly  believe,  the  origi- 
nal charters  of  Charlemagne  and  Louis  le  D^bonnaire. 
Each  consul  of  the  six  parishes  is  intrusted  with  the  keep- 
ing of  one  key,  and  the  chest  can  only  be  opened  when  all 
six  are  present.  It  would  be  quite  impossible  for  a  stran- 
ger to  get  a  sight  of  the  contents.  The  archives  are  said 
to  be  written  on  sheets  of  lead,  on  palm-leaves,  on  parch- 
ment, or  on  paper,  according  to  the  age  from  which  they 
date.  The  chest  also  contains  the  "  Politar,"  or  Annals 
of  Andorra,  with  a  digest  of  the  laws,  compiled  by  the 
scholar  Fiter.  The  government  did  not  allow  the  work  to 
be  published,  but  there  is  another  manuscript  copy  in  the 
possession  of  the  Bishop  of  Urgel. 

I  climbed  the  huge  mass  of  rock  behind  the  buildici^ 


THE    REPUBLIC   OF   THE   PYRENEES.  278 

and  sat  down  upon  its  crest  to  enjoy  the  grand,  sunny  pic- 
ture of  the  valley.  The  mingled  beauty  and  majesty  of 
the  landscape  charmed  me  into  a  day-dream,  in  which  the 
old,  ever-recurring  question  was  lazily  pondered,  whether 
or  not  this  plain,  secluded,  ignorant  life  was  the  happiest 
lot  of  man.  But  the  influences  of  the  place  were  too  sweet 
and  soothing  for  earnest  thought,  and  a  clock  striking  noon 
recalled  me  to  the  fact  that  a  meal  was  ready  in  the  hostal. 
The  host  sat  down  to  the  table  with  Julian  and  myself,  and 
the  spout  of  the  big-bellied  Catalonian  bottle  overhung  our 
mouths  in  succession.  We  had  a  rough  but  satisfactory 
dinner,  during  which  I  told  the  host  who  I  was  and  why  I 
came,  thereby  winning  his  confidence  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  presently  brought  me  an  old,  dirty  Spanish  pam> 
phlet,  saying,  "  You  may  read  this." 

Seeing  that  it  was  a  brief  and  curious  account  of  An- 
dorra, I  asked,  "  Cannot  I  buy  this  or  another  copy  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  it  is  not  to  be  bought.  You  can 
read  it ;  but  you  must  give  it  to  me  again." 

I  selected  a  dark  corner  of  the  kitchen,  lit  my  cigar, 
and  read,  making  rapid  notes  when  I  was  not  observed. 
The  author  was  a  nephew  of  one  of  the  bishops  of  Urgel, 
and  professed  to  have  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  charter 
of  Louis  le  Debonnaire.  That  king,  he  stated,  defeated 
the  Saracens  on  the  plain  towards  Escaldas,  where  the 
western  branch  of  the  Valira  comes  down  from  the  Valley 
of  Ordino.  Before  the  battle,  a  passage  from  the  Book  of 
Kings  catue  into  his  mind :  "  Endor,  over  against  Mount 
Tabor,  where  the  children  of  Israel,  preparing  for  war 
against  the  heathen,  pitched  their  camp " ;  and  after  the 
victory  he  gave  the  valley  the  name  of  Endor,  whence  An- 
dorra. The  resemblance,  the  author  innocently  remarks, 
is  indeed  wonderful.  In  both  places  there  are  high  moun- 
tmns ;  the  same  kinds  of  trees  grow  (!) ;  a  river  flows 
through  each ;  there  are  lions  and  leopards  in  Endor,  and 
bears  and  wolves  in  Andorra !  He  then  gives  the  following 
IS 


274  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

quotation  from  the  charter,  which  was  written  in  Latin 
"  The  men  who  actually  live  in  this  country  are  Licindo^ 
Laurentio,  Obaronio,  Antimirio,  Guirinio,  Suessonio,  Bar- 
rulio,  rustic  laborers,  and  many  others."  Louis  le  D'^bon- 
naire  returned  to  France  by  the  present  Porte  de  Fontar- 
geute,  where,  on  the  summit  of  the  Pyrenees,  he  caused 
a  chain  to  be  stretched  from  rock  to  rock.  The  holes 
drilled  for  the  staples  of  the  rings  are  still  to  be  seen,  the 
people  say. 

When  I  had  finished  the  book,  I  went  out  again,  and 
in  the  shade  of  a  willow  in  the  meadow  below,  made  a 
rough  sketch  of  the  town  and  the  lofty  Mont  Anclar  (mom 
clavus)  behind  it.  As  I  returned,  the  lower  part  of  the 
valley  offered  such  lovely  breadths  of  light  and  shade  that 
I  sought  a  place  among  the  tangle  of  houses  and  rocks  to 
make  a  second  drawing.  The  women,  with  their  children 
around  them,  sat  at  their  doors,  knitting  and  chatting.  One 
cried  out  to  another,  as  I  took  my  seat  on  the  ground, 
"  Why  don't  you  bring  a  chair  for  the  cavalier  ? "  The 
chair  was  brought  immediately,  and  the  children  gathered 
around,  watching  my  movements.  The  mothers  kept 
them  in  good  order,  every  now  and  then  crying  out,  "  Don't 
go  too  near,  and  don't  stand  in  front ! "  Among  themselves 
they  talked  freely  about  me  ;  but,  as  they  asked  no  ques- 
tions, I  finally  said,  "  I  understand  you ;  if  you  will  ask,  I 
will  answer,"  —  whereupon  they  laughed  and  were  silent. 

I  have  already  said  that  reserve  is  a  marked  character- 
istic of  the  Andorrans.  No  doubt  it  sprang  originally 
from  their  consciousness  of  their  weakness,  and  their  fear 
to  lose  their  inherited  privileges  by  betraying  too  much 
about  themselves.  When  one  of  them  is  questioned  upon 
a  point  concerning  which  he  thinks  it  best  to  be  silent,  he 
assumes  a  stupid  expression  of  face,  and  appears  not  to 
understand.  That  afternoon  a  man  came  to  rae  in  the  inn, 
produced  a  rich  specimen  of  galena,  and  said,  "Do  you 
know  what  that  is  ?  "     "  Certainly,"  I  answered  -,  "  it  is  th< 


THE   REPUBLIC   OF   THl-:   I YRENEES.  276 

ore  of  lead.  Where  did  you  get  it  ? "  lie  put  it  in  his 
pocket,  looked  up  at  the  sky,  and  said,  "  What  fine  weather 
we  have ! "  It  is  known  that  there  is  much  lead  in  the 
mountains,  yet  the  mines  have  never  been  worked.  Tlie 
people  say,  "  We  must  keep  poor,  as  our  fathers  have  been. 
If  we  become  rich,  the  French  will  want  our  lead  and  the 
Spaniards  our  silver,  and  then  one  or  the  other  will  rob  us 
of  our  independence." 

So  well  is  this  peculiarity  of  the  inhabitants  understood, 
that  in  Catalonia  to  assume  ignorance  is  called  "  to  play 
the  Andorran."  A  student  from  the  frontier,  on  entering 
a  Spanish  theological  seminary,  was  called  upon  to  trans- 
late the  New  Testament.  When  he  came  to  the  words, 
"  Jesus  autem  tacebat,"  he  rendered  them,  in  perfect  good 
faith,  "  Jesus  played  the  Andorran."  For  the  same  reason, 
the  hospitality  of  the  people  is  of  a  passive  rather  than  of 
an  active  character.  The  stranger  may  enter  any  house  in 
the  valley,  take  his  seat  at  the  family  board,  and  sleep 
under  the  shelter  of  the  roof;  he  is  free  to  come  and  go; 
no  questions  are  asked,  although  voluntary  information  is 
always  gladly  received.  They  would  be  scarcely  human  if 
it  were  not  so. 

The  principal  features  of  the  system  of  government 
which  these  people  have  adopted  may  be  easily  described. 
They  have  no  written  code  of  laws,  the  Politar  being  only 
a  collection  of  precedents  in  certain  cases,  accessible  to  the 
consuls  and  judges,  and  to  them  alone.  When  we  come  to 
examine  the  modes  in  which  they  are  governed, —  proce- 
dures which,  based  on  long  custom,  have  all  the  force  of 
law,  —  we  find  a  singular  mixture  of  the  elements  of  de- 
mocracy, aristocracy,  and  monarchy.  The  sovereignty  of 
France  and  the  Bishop  of  Urgel  is  ackiiowledged  in  the 
appointment  of  the  two  viguiers  (vicarii),  who,  it  is  true, 
are  natives  of  the  valley,  and  devoted  to  its  interests.  In 
all  other  respects  the  forms  are  democratic  ;  but  the  cir- 
cumstance that  the  oflBcials  are  unpaid,  that  they  mu£t  be 


276  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

married,  and  that  they  must  be  members  of  families  in 
good  repute,  has  gradually  concentrated  the  government  in 
the  hands  of  a  small  number  of  families,  by  whom  it  ifl 
virtually  inherited.  Moreover,  the  law  of  primogeniture 
prevails  to  the  fullest  extent,  still  further  lessening  the 
number  of  qualified  persons. 

Tne  Republic  consists  of  six  communes,  or  parishes,  each 
of  which  elects  two  consuls  and  two  councillors,  whose 
term  of  service  is  four  years;  one  official  of  each  class 
being  elected  every  two  years.  There  is  no  restriction  of 
the  right  of  suffrage.  The  twenty-four  officials  form  the 
deliberative  body,  or  Grand  Council,  who  alone  have  the 
power  of  electing  the  Syndic,  the  executive  head  of  the 
government.  He  is  chosen  for  life  ;  he  presides  over  the 
Coimcil,  and  carries  its  decisions  into  effect,  yet  is  respon- 
sible to  it  for  his  actions.  Only  half  the  Council  being 
chosen  at  one  time,  the  disadvantage  of  having  an  entirely 
new  set  of  men  suddenly  placed  in  office  is  obviated.  The 
arrangement,  in  fact,  is  the  same  which  we  have  adopted  in 
regard  to  the  election  of  United  States  Senators. 

The  consuls,  in  addition,  have  their  municipal  duties. 
Each  one  names  ten  petty  magistrates,  called  decurions, 
whose  functions  are  not  much  more  important  than  those 
of  our  constables.  They  simply  preserve  order,  and  assist 
in  bringing  offenses  to  light.  All  the  persons  of  property, 
or  who  exercise  some  useful  mechanical  art,  form  what  is 
called  the  Parish  Coimcil,  whose  business  it  is  to  raise  the 
proportionate  share  of  the  tribute,  to  apportion  the  pastures, 
fix  the  amount  of  wood  to  be  sold  (part  of  the  revenue  of 
Andorra  being  derived  from  the  forests),  and  to  regulate 
ill  ordinary  local  matters.  These  councils,  of  course,  are 
self-existing ;  every  person  who  is  not  poor  and  insignifi- 
cant taking  his  place  naturally  in  them.  No  one  can  be 
chosen  as  consul  who  is  imder  thirty  years  of  age,  who  has 
not  been  married,  who  is  blind,  deaf,  deformed,  or  epileptic, 
who  is  addicted  to  drink,  or  who  has  committed  any  offenw 
Rgainst  the  laws. 


THE  BEPUBLIC   OF   THE  PYBENEES.  277 

The  functions  of  the  parish  councils  and  the  Grand 
Council  of  the  Republic  are  carefully  separated.  The 
former  have  charge  of  inns,  forges,  bakeries,  weaving,  and 
the  building  of  dwelling-houses ;  the  latter  has  conlxol 
of  the  forests,  the  ways  of  communication,  the  chase,  the 
fisheries,  the  finances,  and  the  building  of  all  edifices  of  a 
public  character.  It  has  five  sessions  a  year.  Its  mem- 
bers are  not  paid,  but  they  are  lodged  and  fed,  during  these 
sessions,  at  the  public  expense.  Each  parish  owns  two 
double-beds  in  the  upper  story  of  the  Casa  del  Vails  at 
Andorra ;  in  each  bed  sleep  two  consuls  or  two  councillors. 
There  is  a  kitchen,  with  an  enormous  pot,  in  which  their 
frugal  meals  are  cooked,  and  a  dining-room  in  which  they 
are  served.  Formerly  their  sessions  were  held  in  the 
church-yard,  among  the  tombs,  as  if  to  render  them  more 
solemnly  impressive;  but  this  practice  has  long  been  dis- 
continued. 

The  expenses  of  the  state,  one  will  readily  guess,  must  be 
very  slight.  The  tribute  paid  to  France  is  nineteen  hun- 
dred and  twenty  francs ;  that  to  the  Bishop  of  Urgel,  eight 
hundred  and  forty-two  francs  —  an  average  of  two  hundred 
and  seventy-five  dollars  per  annum.  The  direct  tax  is  five 
cents  annually  for  each  person  ;  but  a  moderate  revenue  is 
derived  from  the  sale  of  wood  and  charcoal,  and  the  rent 
of  pastures  on  the  northern  slope  of  the  Pyrenees.  Im- 
port, export,  and  excise  duties,  licenses,  and  stamps  are 
unknown,  although,  in  civil  cases,  certain  moderate  fees  are 
established.  The  right  of  tithes,  given  by  Charlemagne  to 
Possidonius,  remains  in  force ;  but  they  are  generally  paid 
in  kind  ;  and  in  return  the  Bishop  of  Urgel,  who  appoints 
the  priests,  contributes  to  their  support.  The  vicars,  of 
whom  there  is  one  to  each  parish,  are  paid  by  the  govern- 
ment. The  inhabitants  are,  without  exception,  devout  Cath- 
olics, yet  it  is  probably  ancient  custom,  rather  than  the 
influence  of  the  priests,  which  makes  them  indifferent  to 
education.     The  schools  are  so  few  that  they  hardly  de 


2*/^  feY-\^AYS   OP  EtmofR. 

?erve  to  be  mentioned.     Only  one  man  in  a  hundred,  and 
one  woman  in  five  hundred  can  read  and  write. 

The  two  viguiers,  one  of  whom  is  named  by  France  and 
the  other  by  the  Bishop  of  Urgel,  exercise  the  functions  of 
judges.  They  are  the  representatives  of  the  two  sovereign" 
powers,  and  their  office  is  therefore  surrounded  with  every 
mark  of  respect.  Although  nominally  of  equal  authority 
their  activity  is  in  reality  very  unequally  divided.  Usually 
some  prominent  official  of  the  Department  de  I'Ari^ge  ia 
named  on  the  part  of  France,  and  contents  himself  with  an 
annual  visit  to  the  valley.  The  Bishop,  on  the  other  hand, 
always  names  a  native  Andorran,  who  resides  among  the 
people,  and  performs  the  duties  of  both  viguiers.  When  a 
new  viguier  is  appointed,  he  must  be  solemnly  installed  at 
the  capital.  The  members  of  the  Grand  Council  then  ap- 
pear in  their  official  costume  —  a  long  surtout  of  black 
cloth,  with  crimson  facings,  a  red  shawl  around  the  waist, 
gray  knee-breeches,  sky-blue  stockings,  and  shoes  with 
silver  buckles.  The  Syndic  of  the  Republic  wears  a  crim- 
son mantle ;  but  the  viguier  is  dressed  in  black,  with  a 
sword,  cocked  hat,  and  gold-headed  staff!  As  the  tribute 
paid  to  France  is  much  larger  than  that  paid  to  the  Bishop, 
the  people  have  voluntarily  added  to  the  latter  a  Christmas 
offering  of  the  twelve  best  Hams,  the  twelve  richest  cheeses, 
and  the  twelve  fattest  capons  to  be  found  in  the  six  par- 
ishes. 

The  sovereign  powers  have  two  other  representatives  in 
addition  to  the  viguiers.  These  are  the  batlles  (bailes, 
bailiffs  ?)  who  are  chosen  from  a  list  of  six  persons  selected 
by  the  Grand  Council.  Their  principal  duty  is  to  hear 
and  decide,  in  the  first  instance,  all  civil  and  criminal  cases, 
except  those  which  the  government  specially  reserves  for 
its  own  judgment.  The  batlles,  however,  are  called  upon 
to  prevent,  rather  than  solve  litigation.  When  a  case  oc* 
curs,  they  first  endeavor  to  reconcile  the  parties,  or  substi- 
tute  a  private  arbitration.     If  that  fails-  the  case  is  con 


THE  REPUBLIC   OF    THE   PYRENEES,  279 

fddered ;  and,  after  the  help  of  God  is  solemnly  invoked, 
judgment  is  pronounced.  Where  the  dispute  involves  a 
delicate  or  doubtful  point,  the  batUe  consults  separatelj 
the  three  men  of  best  character  and  most  familiar  with  the 
laws  who  are  to  be  found  in  the  parish,  and  decides  as  the 
judgment  of  two  of  them  may  coincide.  It  rarely  happens 
that  any  serious  lawsuit  occurs,  or  that  any  capital  crime  is 
committed.  The  morals  of  the  people  are  guarded  with 
equal  care ;  any  slip  from  chastity  is  quietly  looked  after 
by  the  priests  and  officials,  and  the  parties,  if  possible, 
legally  united. 

The  more  important  cases,  or  appeals  from  the  decision 
of  the  batlles,  come  before  the  Supreme  Tribunal  of  Jus- 
tice, which  is  composed  of  the  two  viguiers,  a  judge  of  ap- 
peal (chosen  to  give  the  casting  vote  when  there  is  a  dif- 
ference of  opinion  between  the  viguiers),  a  government 
prosecutor,  and  two  rahonadors  (pleaders)  chosen  for  the 
defense  by  the  Grand  Council.  This  tribunal  has  the 
power  to  pronounce  a  capital  sentence,  which  is  then  car- 
ried out  by  an  executioner  brought  either  from  France  or 
Spain. 

The  army,  if  it  may  be  called  such,  consists  of  six  hun- 
dred men,  or  one  from  each  family.  They  are  divided  into 
six  companies,  according  to  the  parishes,  with  a  captain  for 
each ;  the  decurions  acting  as  subaltern  officers.  The  only 
special  duty  imposed  upon  them,  beyond  the  occasional 
escort  and  guard  of  prisoners,  is  an  annual  review  by  the 
viguiers  and  the  Grand  Council,  which  takes  place  on  the 
meadow  below  Andorra.  The  officials  are  seated  in  state 
around  a  large  table,  upon  which  a  muster-roll  of  the  army 
is  laid.  When  the  first  name  is  read,  the  soldier  to  whom 
it  belongs  steps  forward,  discharges  his  musket  in  the  air, 
then  advances  to  the  table  and  exhibits  his  ammunition, 
which  must  consist  of  a  pound  of  powder,  twenty-four  balls, 
and  as  many  caps.  Each  man  is  called  in  turn,  until  the 
whole  six  hundred  have  been  thus  reviewed. 


280  BY-WAYS   OP  EUROPJ!.. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  the  mode  of  government  and  th« 
forms  of  judicial  procedure  in  this  little  republic.  I  have 
not  thought  it  necessary  to  add  the  more  minute  details 
which  grow  naturally  out  of  the  peculiarities  already  de- 
scribed. Two  things  will  strike  the  reader :  first,  the  suffi- 
ciency of  the  system,  quaint  and  singular  as  it  may  be  in 
some  respects,  to  the  needs  of  the  people ;  secondly,  the 
skill  with  which  they  have  reconciled  the  conditions  im- 
posed upon  them  by  the  Pariatges,  in  1278,  with  the  struc- 
ture of  government  they  had  already  erected.  For  a  people 
so  ignorant,  so  remote  from  the  movement  of  the  world, 
and  so  precariously  situated,  their  course  has  been  directed 
by  a  rare  wisdom.  No  people  value  independence  more ; 
they  have  held  it,  with  fear  and  trembling,  as  a  precious 
gift ;  and  for  a  thousand  years  they  have  taken  no  single 
step  which  did  not  tend  to  secure  them  in  its  possession. 

According  to  the  host's  volume,  the  population  of  the 
towns  is  as  follows :  Andorra,  850  inhabitants  ;  San  Julian 
de  Loria,  620  ;  Encamp,  520  ;  Canillo,  630  ;  Ordino,  750  ; 
and  Massana,  700.  The  population  of  the  smaller  hamlets, 
and  the  scattered  houses  of  the  farmers  and  herdsmen,  will 
probably  amount  to  about  as  many  more,  which  would  give 
eight  thousand  persons  as  the  entire  population  of  the  state. 
I  believe  this  estimate  to  be  very  nearly  correct.  It  is  a 
singular  circumstance,  that  the  number  has  not  materially 
changed  for  centuries.  Emigration  from  the  valley  has 
been  rare  until  recent  times ;  the  climate  is  healthy ;  the 
people  an  active,  vigorous  race ;  and  there  must  be  some 
unusual  cause  for  this  lack  of  increase.  A  young  man,  a 
native  of  the  parish  of  Ordino,  with  whom  I  had  a  long 
conversation  in  the  evening,  gave  me  some  information 
upon  this  point.  The  life  of  families  in  Andorra  is  still 
regulated  on  the  old  patriarchal  plan.  The  landed  prop- 
erty descends  to  the  oldest  son  or  daughter,  or,  in  default 
of  direct  issue,  to  the  nearest  relative.  This,  indeed,  is  not 
the  law,' which  gives  only  a  third  to  the  chief  inheritor,  and 


fHE  REPUBLIC   OF  THE   PYRENEES.  281 

divides  the  remainder  equally  among  the  other  members 
of  the  family.  But  it  has  become  a  custom  stronger  than 
law  —  a  custom  which  is  now  never  violated  —  to  preserve 
the  old  possessions  intact.  The  caps,  or  heads  of  families, 
are  held  in  such  high  estimation,  that  all  other  family  and 
even  personal  rights  are  subordinate  to  theirs.  They  are 
rich  and  respected,  while  the  younger  brothers  and  sisters, 
who,  by  this  arrangement,  may  be  left  too  poor  to  marry, 
cheerfully  accept  a  life  of  celibacy.  "  I  am  a  younger  son,* 
said  my  informant ;  ''  but  I  have  been  able  to  marry,  be- 
cause I  went  down  into  Catalonia,  entered  into  business, 
and  made  some  money."  When  a  daughter  inherits,  she 
is  required  to  marry  the  nearest  relative  permitted  by 
canonical  law,  who  takes  her  family  name  and  perpetuates 
it 

In  the  course  of  centuries,  however,  the  principal  fami- 
lies have  become  so  inter-related  that  their  interests  fre- 
quently require  marriages  within  the  prohibited  degrees. 
In  this  case  the  Andorran  undertakes  a  journey  to  Rome, 
to  procure  a  special  dispensation  from  the  Pope.  He  is 
generally  the  representative  of  other  parties,  similarly  sit- 
uated, who  assist  in  defraying  the  expenses  of  the  journey. 
After  a  collective  dispensation  has  been  issued,  all  the 
marriages  must  be  celebrated  by  proxy  —  the  Andorran 
and  a  Roman  woman  who  is  paid  for  the  service  represent- 
ing, in  turn,  each  bridal  pair  at  home.  The  latter  must 
afterwards  perform  public  penance  in  church,  kneeling 
apart  from  the  other  worshippers,  with  lighted  tapers  in 
their  hands  and  ashes  upon  their  heads. 

Owing  to  the  strictness  of  these  domestic  laws,  the  re- 
markable habit  of  self-control  among  the  people,  and  the 
careful  guard  over  their  morals  exercised  by  the  officials, 
they  have  become  naturally  virtuous,  and  hence  great  free- 
dom of  social  intercourse  is  permitted  among  the  sexes. 
Their  sports  and  pleasures  are  characterized  by  a  pastoral 
■implicity  and  temperance.    Excesses  are  very  rare  b&^us« 


28£  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

all  ages  and  classes  of  both  sexes  meet  together,  and  the 
presence  of  the  priests  and  caps  grossos  (chief  men)  acts 
as  a  check  upon  the  young  men.  At  the  festival  of  some 
patron  saint  of  the  valley,  mass  in  the  chapel  is  followed 
by  a  festive  meal  in  the  open  air,  after  which  the  priest 
himself  gives  the  signal  for  the  dances  to  commence.  The 
lads  and  lasses  then  assemble  on  a  smooth  piece  of  turf, 
where  the  sounds  of  bagpipe  and  tambourine  set  their  feet 
in  motion.  The  old  people  are  not  always  gossiping  spec- 
tators, speculating  on  the  couples  that  move  before  them 
in  the  rude,  wild  dances  of  the  mountains ;  they  ofl«n  enter 
the  lists,  and  hold  their  ground  with  the  youngest. 

Thus,  in  spite  of  acquired  reserve  and  predetermined 
poverty,  the  life  of  the  Andorrans  has  its  poetical  side. 
The  republic  has  produced  one  historian  (perhaps  I  should 
say  compiler),  but  no  author ;  and  only  Love,  the  source 
and  soul  of  Art,  keeps  alive  a  habit  of  improvisation  in  the 
young  which  they  appear  to  lose  as  they  grow  older.  Dur- 
ing Carnival,  a  number  of  young  men  in  the  villages  as- 
semble under  the  balcony  of  some  chosen  girl,  and  praise, 
in  turn,  in  words  improvised  to  a  familiar  melody,  her 
charms  of  person  and  of  character.  When  this  trial  of  the 
Minnesingers  begins  to  lag  for  want  of  words  or  ideas,  the 
girl  makes  her  appearance  on  the  balcony,  and  with  a  cord 
lets  down  to  her  admirers  a  basket  containing  cakes  of 
her  own  baking,  bottles  of  wine,  and  sausages.  Before 
Easter,  the  unmarried  people  make  bets,  which  are  won  by 
whoever,  on  Easter  morning,  can  first  catch  the  other  and 
cry  out,  "  It  is  Easter,  the  eggs  are  mine  ! "  Tricks,  false- 
hoods, and  deceptions  of  all  kinds  are  permitted  :  the  young 
man  may  even  surprise  the  maiden  in  bed,  if  he  can  suc- 
ceed in  doing  so.  Afterwards  they  all  assemble  in  public, 
relate  their  tricks,  eat  their  Easter  eggs,  and  finish  the  day 
with  songs  and  dances. 

Two  ruling  ideas  have  governed  the  Andorrans  for  cen" 
tunes  past,  and  seem  to  have  existed  independent  of  anj 


THE  ItEPtJBUO   OF  THE   PYBENEES.  288 

■pecial  tradition.  One  is,  that  they  must  not  become  rich  { 
the  other,  that  no  feature  of  their  government  must  be 
changed.  The  former  condition  is  certainly  the  more  diffi- 
cult of  fulfillment,  since  they  have  had  frequent  opportu- 
nities of  increasing  their  wealth.  There  is  one  family  which, 
on  account  of  the  land  that  has  fallen  to  it  by  inheritance, 
would  be  considered  rich  in  any  country;  half  a  dozen 
others  possessing  from  twenty  to  thirty  thousand  dollars ; 
and  a  large  number  who  are  in  comfortable  circumstances 
simply  because  their  needs  are  so  few.  I  had  heard  that  a 
party  opposed  to  the  old  traditional  ideas  was  growing  up 
among  the  young  men,  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  obtain 
information  on  the  subject.  When  I  asked  the  gentleman 
from  Ordino  about  it,  he  "  acted  the  Andorran,"  —  put  on 
an  expression  of  face  almost  idiotic,  and  talked  of  something 
else.  He  and  two  others  with  whom  I  conversed  during  the 
evening  admitted,  however,  that  a  recent  concession  of  the 
government  (of  which  I  shall  presently  speak)  was  the 
entering  wedge  by  which  change  would  probably  come 
upon  the  hitherto  changeless  republic. 

With  the  exception  of  this  incommunicativeness,  —  in 
itself  rather-  an  interesting  feature  —  no  people  could  have 
been  more  kind  and  friendly.  When  I  went  to  bed  among 
the  saddles  and  harness  in  the  little  room,  I  no  longer  felt 
that  I  was  a  stranger  in  the  place.  All  that  I  had  heard  of 
the  ho!>t^itality  of  the  people  seemed  to  be  verified  by  their 
demeanor.  I  remembered  how  faithfully  they  had  asserted 
the  neutrality  of  their  territory  in  behalf  of  political  exiler 
from  France  and  Spain.  Greneral  Cabrera,  Armand  Carrel, 
and  Ferdinand  Flocon  have  at  different  times  found  a  ref- 
uge among  them.  Although  the  government  reserves  the 
right  to  prohibit  residence  to  any  person  whose  presence 
may  threaten  the  peace  of  the  valley,  I  have  not  heard  that 
the  right  was  ever  exercised.  Andorra  has  been  an  ark  of 
safety  to  strangers,  as  well  as  an  inviolate  home  of  fteedom 
to  its  own  inhabitants. 


284  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBOPE. 

Julian  called  me  at  four  o'clock,  to  resume  our  journey 
up  the  valley,  and  the  host  made  a  cup  of  chocolate  while 
my  horse  was  being  saddled.  Then  I  rode  forth  into  the 
clear,  cold  air,  which  the  sun  of  the  Pyrenees  had  not  yet 
warmed.  The  town  is  between  three  and  four  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  and  the  limit  of  the  olive  tree  is  found 
in  one  of  its  sheltered  gardens.  As  I  issued  from  the 
houses,  and  took  a  rugged  path  along  the  base  of  Mont 
Anclar,  the  village  of  Escaldas  and  the  great  gorge  in  front 
lay  in  a  cold,  broad  mantle  of  shadow,  while  the  valley  was 
filled  to  its  topmost  brims  with  splendid  sunshine.  I  looked 
between  the  stems  of  giant  ilexes  upon  the  battle-field  of 
Louis  le  Ddbonnaire.  Then  came  a  yawning  chasm,  down 
which  foamed  the  western  branch  of  the  Valira,  coming 
from  an  upper  valley  in  which  lie  the  parishes  of  Ordino 
and  Massana.  The  two  valleys  thus  form  a  Y,  giving  the 
territory  of  Andorra  a  rough  triangular  shape,  about  forty 
miles  in  length  —  its  base,  some  thirty  miles  in  breadth, 
overlapping  the  Pyrenees,  and  its  point  nearly  touching  the 
Rio  Segre,  at  Urgel. 

A  bridge  of  a  single  arch  spanned  the  chasm,  the  bottom 
of  which  was  filled  with  tumbling  foam;  while  every  ledge 
of  rock,  above  and  below,  was  draped  with  eglantine,  wild 
fig,  clematis,  and  ivy.  Thence,  onward  towards  Escaldasj 
my  path  lay  between  huge  masses  which  had  fallen  from 
the  steeps,  and  bowers  completely  snowed  over  with  white 
roses,  wherein  the  nightingales  were  just  beginning  to 
awaken.  Then,  one  by  one,  the  brown  houses  above  me 
clung  like  nests  to  the  rocks,  with  little  gardens  hanging  on 
seemingly  inaccessible  shelves.  I  entered  the  enfolding 
shadows,  and,  following  the  roar  of  waters,  soon  found  my- 
self at  Escaldas  —  a  place  as  wonderfully  picturesque  as 
Ronda  or  Tivoli,  directly  under  the  tremendous  perpen- 
dicular walls  of  the  gorge  ;  the  arrowy  Valira  sweeping  the 
foundations  of  the  houses  on  one  side,  while  the  dark 
masses  of  rook  crowded  against  and  separated  them  on  the 


THE  REPUBLIC   OF  THE  PYRENEES.  285 

other.  From  the  edge  of  the  river,  and  between  the  thick 
foliage  of  ilex  and  box  behind  the  houses,  rose  thin  columns 
of  steam,  marking  the  hot  springs  whence  the  place  (agttai 
caldas)  was  named. 

Crossing  the  river,  1  halted  at  the  first  of  these  springs, 
and  took  a  drink.  Some  old  people  who  collected  informed 
me  that  there  were  ten  in  all,  besides  a  number  of  cold 
mineral  fountains,  furnishing  nine  different  kinds  of  water 
—  all  of  which,  they  said,  possessed  wonderful  healing  prop- 
erties. There  were  both  iron  and  sulphur  in  that  which  I 
tasted.  A  little  further,  a  rude  fulling-mill  was  at  work  in 
the  open  air ;  and  in  a  forge  on  the  other  side  of  the  road 
three  blacksmiths  were  working  the  native  iron  of  the 
mountains.  A  second  and  third  hot  spring  followed  ;  then 
a  fourth,  in  which  a  number  of  women  were  washing  clothes. 
All  this  in  the  midst  of  a  chaos  of  rock,  water,  and  foliage. 

These  springs  of  Escaldas  have  led  to  the  concession 
which  the  Andorrans  described  to  me  as  opening  a  new, 
and,  I  fear,  not  very  fortunate,  phase  of  their  history.  The 
exploiters  of  the  gambling  interest  of  France,  on  the  point 
of  being  driven  from  Wiesbaden,  Homburg  and  Baden- 
Baden,  ransacked  Europe  for  a  point  where  they  might  at 
the  same  time  ply  their  business  and  attract  the  fashionable 
world.  They  detected  Andorra;  and  by  the  most  consum- 
mate diplomacy  they  have  succeeded  in  allaying  the  sus- 
picions of  the  government,  in  neutralizing  the  power  of  its 
ancient  policy,  and  in  acquiring  privileges  which,  harmless 
as  they  seem,  may  in  time  wholly  subvert  the  old  order  of 
things.  It  is  impossible  that  this  result  could  have  been 
accomplished  unless  a  party  of  progress,  the  existence  of 
which  has  been  hinted,  has  really  grown  up  among  tne 
people.  The  French  speculators,  I  am  told,  undertake  to 
build  a  carriage-road  across  the  Pyrenees  ;  to  erect  bathing- 
establishments  and  hotels  on  a  magnificent  scale  at  Escal- 
das, and  to  conduct  the  latter,  under  the  direction  of  the 
%uthorities  of  Andorra,  for  a  period  of  forty  years,  at  the 


286  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

end  of  which  time  the  latter  shall  be  placed  in  possesaon 
of  the  roads,  buildings,  and  all  other  improvements.  The 
expense  of  the  undertaking  is  estimated  at  ten  millions  of 
francs.  A  theatre  and  a  bank  (faro  ?)  are  among  the 
features  of  the  speculation.  Meanwhile,  until  the  carriage- 
road  shall  be  built,  temporary  hotels  and  gaming-houses 
are  to  be  erected  in  the  valley  of  the  Ariege,  on  the  French 
side  of  the  Pyrenees,  but  within  the  territory  belonging  to 
Andorra. 

I  do  not  consider  it  as  by  any  means  certain  that  the  plan 
will  be  carried  out ;  but  if  it  should  be,  the  first  step  towards 
the  annexation  of  Andorra  to  France  will  have  been  taken. 
In  any  case,  I  am  glad  to  have  visited  the  republic  while  it 
is  yet  shut  from  the  world. 

Behind  Escaldas  an  affluent  of  the  Valira  dashed  down 
the  mountain  on  the  right,  breaking  the  rich  masses  of 
foliage  with  silver  gleams.  I  halted  on  the  summit  of  the 
first  rocky  rampart,  and  turned  to  take  a  last  view  of  the 
valley.  What  a  picture  !  I  stood  in  the  deep  shadow  of 
the  mountains,  in  the  heart  of  a  wilderness  of  rocks  which 
towered  out  of  evergreen  verdure,  and  seemed  to  vibrate 
amidst  the  rush,  the  foam,  and  the  thunder  of  streams. 
The  houses  of  the  village,  clinging  to  and  climbing  the 
sides  of  the  opening  pass,  made  a  dark  frame,  through 
which  the  green  and  gold  of  the  splendid  valley,  drowned 
in  sunshine,  became,  by  the  force  of  contrast,  limpid  and 
luminous  as  a  picture  of  the  air.  The  rocks  and  houses  of 
Old  Andorra  and  the  tower  of  the  House  of  Government 
made  the  central  point  of  the  view  ;  dazzling  meadows 
below  and  mountain  terraces  above  basked  in  the  faint 
prismatic  lustre  of  the  morning  air.  High  up,  in  the  rear 
of  the  crowning  cliffs,  I  caught  glimpses  of  Alpine  pastures ; 
and  on  the  right,  far  away,  streaks  of  snow.  It  was  a  vision 
never  to  be  forgotten  :  it  was  one  of  the  few  perfect  land- 
scapes of  the  world. 

As  the  path  rose  in  rapid  zigzags  beside  the  split  through 


THE  BEPUBLIC   OF  THE   PYRENEES.  287 

wbich  the  river  pours,  I  came  upon  another  busy  village^ 
In  an  open  space  among  the  rocks  there  were  at  least  a 
hundred  bee-hives,  formed  of  segments  of  the  hollowed 
cnmks  of  trees.  They  stood  in  rows,  eight  or  ten  feet 
apart ;  and  the  swarms  that  continually  came  and  went 
seemed  to  have  their  separate  paths  marked  out  in  the  air. 
They  moved  softly  and  swiftly  through  each  other  without 
entanglement  Aft«r  passing  the  gateway  of  the  Valira, 
the  path  still  mounted,  and  finally  crept  along  the  side  of  a 
deep  trough,  curving  eastward.  There  were  fields  on  both 
slopes,  wherever  it  was  possible  to  create  them.  Here  I 
encountered  a  body  of  road-makers,  whom  the  French 
speculators  had  set  to  work.  They  were  engaged  in  widen- 
ing the  bridle-path,  so  that  carts  might  pass  to  Escaldas 
from  the  upper  valleys  of  Encamp  and  Canillo.  The  rock 
was  blasted  on  the  upper  side  ;  while,  on  the  lower,  work- 
men were  basing  the  walls  on  projecting  points  of  the  preci- 
pice. In  some  places  they  hung  over  deep  gulfs,  adjusting 
the  great  masses  of  stone  with  equal  skill  and  coolness. 

In  an  hour  the  gorge  opened  upon  the  Valley  of  Encamp, 
which  is  smaller,  but  quite  as  wild  and  grand  in  its  features 
as  that  of  Andorra.  Here  the  fields  of  rye  and  barley  were 
only  beginning  to  grow  yellow,  the  flowers  were  those  of  an 
earlier  season,  and  the  ilex  and  box  alone  remained  of  the 
southern  trees  and  shrubs.  Great  thickets  of  the  latter 
fringed  the  crags.  A  high  rock  on  the  left  served  as  a 
pedestal  for  a  church,  with  a  tall,  square  belfry,  which 
leaned  so  much  from  the  perpendicular  that  it  was  not 
pleasant  to  ride  under  it.  The  village  of  Encamp  occupied 
a  position  similar  to  that  of  Escaldas,  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  valley,  and  in  the  opening  of  another  gorge,  the  sides  of 
which  are  so  closely  interfolded  that  the  river  appears  to 
issue  out  of  the  very  heart  of  the  mountain.  It  is  a  queer, 
dirty,  mouldy  old  place.  Even  the  immemorial  rocks  of 
the  Pyrenees  look  new  and  fresh  beside  the  dark  rust  of 
its  walls.     The  people  had  mostly  gone  away  to  their  fields 


288  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

and  pastures;  only  a  few  old  men  and  women,  and  the 
youngest  children,  sunned  themselves  at  the  doors.  The 
main  street  had  been  paved  once,  but  the  stones  were  now 
displaced,  leaving  pits  of  mud  and  filth.  In  one  place  the 
houses  were  built  over  it,  forming  dark,  badly  smelling 
arches,  under  which  I  was  forced  to  ride. 

The  path  beyond  was  terribly  rough  and  difficult,  climb- 
ing the  precipices  with  many  windings,  until  it  reached  a 
narrow  ledge  far  above  the  bed  of  the  gorge.  There  were 
frequent  shrines  along  the  way,  at  the  most  dangerous 
points ;  and  Julian,  who  walked  ahead,  always  lifted  his 
cap  and  muttered  a  prayer  as  he  passed  them.  After  three 
or  four  miles  of  such  travel,  I  reached  the  church  of 
Merichel,  on  an  artificial  platform,  cut  out  of  the  almost 
perpendicular  side  of  the  mountain.  This  is  the  shrine  of 
most  repute  in  Andorra,  and  the  goal  of  many  a  summer 
pilgrimage.  Here  the  mass,  the  rustic  banquet,  and  the 
dance  draw  old  and  young  together  from  all  parts  of  the 
republic. 

I  climbed  another  height,  following  the  eastern  curve  of 
the  gorge,  and  finally  saw  the  village  of  Canillo,  the  capital 
of  one  of  the  six  parishes,  lying  below  me,  in  the  lap  of 
a  third  valley.  It  had  a  brighter  and  fresher  air  than  En- 
camp ;  the  houses  were  larger  and  cleaner,  and  there  were 
garden-plots  about  them.  In  this  valley  the  grain  was  quite 
green  ;  the  ilex  had  disappeared,  making  way  for  the  pop- 
lar and  willow,  but  the  stubborn  box  still  held  its  ground. 
In  every  bush  on  the  banks  of  Valira  sat  a  nightingale ; 
the  little  brown  bird  sings  most  lustily  where  the  noise  of 
water  accompanies  his  song.  I  never  saw  him  so  fearless ; 
I  could  have  touched  many  of  the  minstrels  with  my  hand 
as  I  passed. 

At  Canillo  I  crossed  the  Valira,  and  thenceforward  the 
path  followed  its  western  bank.  This  valley  was  closed, 
like  all  the  others,  by  a  pass  cloven  through  the  mountains. 
Upon  one  of  the  natural  bastions  guarding  it  there  is  aa 


THE  REPUBLIC   OF  THE  PYRENEES.  28ft 

ancient  tower  which  the  people  say  was  built  by  the  Sara- 
cens before  the  Frank  conquest.  The  passage  of  the  gorge 
which  followed  was  less  rugged  than  the  preceding  ones,  — 
an  indication  of -my  approach  to  the  summit  of  the  Pyre- 
nees. In  following  the  Rio  Segre  and  the  Valira,  I  had 
traversed  eight  of  those  tremendous  defiles,  varying  fronp 
one  to  six  miles  in  length  ;  and  the  heart  of  the  mountain 
region,  where  the  signs  of  force  and  convulsion  always 
diminish,  was  now  attained.  One  picture  on  the  way  was 
so  lovely  that  I  stopped  and  drew  it.  In  the  centre  of  the 
valley,  on  a  solitary  rock,  stood  an  ancient  church  and 
tower,  golden-brown  in  the  sun.  On  the  right  were  moun- 
tains clothed  with  forests  of  pine  and  fir ;  in  the  distance, 
fields  of  snow.  All  the  cleared  slopes  were  crimson  with 
the  Alpine-rose,  a  dwarf  variety  of  rhododendron.  Per- 
fect sunshine  covered  the  scene,  and  the  purest  of  breezes 
blew  over  it  Here  and  there  a  grain-field  clung  to  the 
crags,  or  found  a  place  among  their  tumbled  fragments,  but 
no  living  being  was  to  be  seen. 

The  landscapes  were  now  wholly  northern,  except  the 
sun  and  sky.  Aspens  appeared  on  the  heights,  shivering 
among  the  steady  pines.  After  a  time  I  came  to  a  point 
where  there  were  two  valleys,  two  streams,  and  two  paths. 
Julian  took  the  left,  piloting  me  over  grassy  meadows, 
where  the  perfume  from  beds  of  daffodil  was  almost  too 
powerful  to  breathe.  On  one  side,  all  the  mountain  was 
golden  with  broom-flowers ;  on  the  other,  a  mass  of  fiery 
crimson,  from  the  Alpine-rose.  The  valley  was  dotted 
with  scattered  cottages  of  the  herdsmen,  as  in  Switzerland. 
In  front  there  were  two  snowy  peaks,  with  a  "  saddle  "  be- 
tween —  evidently  one  of  the  partes  of  the  Pyrenees  ;  yet 
I  saw  no  indications  of  the  hamlet  of  Soldeu,  which  we 
must  pass.  .Julian  shouted  to  a  herdsman,  who  told  us  we 
had  taken  the  \frong  valley.  The  porte  before  us  was  that 
of  Fontargente,  across  which  Louis  le  Ddbonnaire  stretched 
his  chain  on  leaving  Andorra. 
19 


290  BY-WAYS   OF  EURCFK. 

"We  retraced  our  steps,  and  in  half  an  hour  reached  Sol 
deu,  in  a  high,  bleak  pasture-valley,  where  cultivation 
ceases.  It  is  at  least  six  thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  and 
the  vegetation  is  that  of  the  high  Alps.  '  We  were  nearly 
famished,  and,  as  there  was  no  sign  of  a  "hostal,"  entered 
the  first  house.  The  occupant,  a  woman,  offered  to  gi\e 
us  what  she  had,  but  said  that  there  was  another  family 
who  made  a  business  of  entertaining  travellers,  and  we 
would  there  be  better  served.  We  found  the  house,  and 
truly,  after  waiting  an  hour,  were  refreshed  by  a  surprising 
Jinner  of  five  courses.  There  was  another  guest,  in  the 
person  of  a  French  butcher  from  the  little  town  of  Hos- 
pitalet,  in  the  valley  of  the  Ari^ge.  It  was  so  cold  that  we 
all  crowded  about  the  kitchen  fire.  Two  Andorrans  came 
in,  and  sat  down  to  the  tablie  with  us.  I  have  dined  at 
stately  entertainments  where  there  was  less  grace  and  re- 
finement among  the  company  than  the  butcher  and  the 
two  peasants  exhibited.  There  was  a  dessert  of  roasted 
almonds  and  coffee  (with  a  chasse)  ;  and  after  the  meal  we 
found  the  temperature  of  the  air  very  mild  and  balmy. 

Hospitalet  being  also  my  destination,  I  accepted  the 
butcher's  company,  and  at  one  o'clock  we  set  forth  for  the 
passage  of  the  Pyrenees.  On  leaving  Soldeu  I  saw  the 
last  willow,  in  which  sat  and  sang  the  last  nightingale. 
The  path  rose  rapidly  along  the  steep  slopes  of  grass,  with 
an  amphitheatre  of  the  highest  summits  around  us.  The 
forests  sank  out  of  sight  in  the  glens ;  snow-fields  multi- 
plied far  and  near,  sparkling  in  the  thin  air,  and  the  scenery 
assumed  a  bleak,  monotonous  grandeur.  I  traced  the  Va 
lira,  now  a  mere  thread,  to  its  source  in  seven  icy  lakes^ 
fed  by  the  snow :  in  those  lakes,  said  the  butcher,  are  the 
finest  trout  of  the  Pyrenees.  The  Porte  de  Valira  was 
immediately  above  us,  on  the  lefl ;  a  last  hard  pull  up  the 
steep,  between  beds  of  snow,  and  we  stood' on  the  summit 

The  elevation  of  the  pass  is  nearly  eight  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea.     On  either  hand  you  descry  nothing  but  the 


THE  REPL'BLIC   OF  THE   PYRENEES.  291 

irregular  lines  of  the  French  and  Spanish  Pyrenees,  rising 
and  falling  in  receding  planes  of  distance.  Rocks,  grass, 
and  snow  make  up  the  scenery,  which,  nevertheless,  im- 
presses by  its  very  simplicity  and  severity. 

The  descent  into  France  is  toilsome,  liut  not  dangerous 
A  mile  or  two  below  the  crest  we  saw  the  fountain  of  the 
Ariege,  at  the  base  of  a  grand  escarpment  of  rock.  Thence 
for  two  hours  we  followed  the  descending  trough  of  the 
river  through  bleak,  grassy  solitudes,  uncheered  by  a  single 
tree,  or  any  sign  of  human  life  except  the  well-worn  path. 
Finally  the  cottage  of  a  grazing-farm  came  into  view,  but 
it  was  tenantless  —  all  the  inhabitants  having  been  over- 
whelmed by  an  avalanche  three  years  ago.  Then  I  dis- 
covered signs  of  a  road  high  up  on  the  opposite  mountain, 
saw  workmen  scattered  along  it,  and  heard  a  volley  of  ex- 
plosions. This  was  the  new  highway  to  Porte  St.  Louis  and 
Puigcerda.  On  a  green  meadow  beside  the  river  walked 
two  gentlemen  and  two  ladies  in  round  hats  and  scarlet 
petticoate 

"  They  are  picking  out  a  spot  to  build  their  gaming- 
houses upon,"  said  the  butcher ;  "  this  is  still  Andorra." 

A  mile  further  there  was  a  little  bridge  —  fhe  Pont  de 
Cerda.  A  hut,  serving  as  a  guard-house,  leaned  against 
the  rocks,  but  the  gens  cCarmes  were  asleep  or  absent,  and 
I  rode  unquestioned  into  France.  It  was  already  sunset 
in  the  valley,  and  the  houses  of  Hospitalet,  glimmering 
through  the  shadows,  were  a  welcome  sight.  Here  was  the 
beginning  of  highways  and  mail-coaches,  the  movement  of 
the  living  world  again.  I  supped  and  slept  (not  very  com- 
fortably, I  must  confess)  in  the  house  of  my  friend  the 
butcher,  said  good-by  to  Julian  in  the  morning,  and  by 
noon  was  resting  from  my  many  fatigues  in  the  best  inn  of 
Foix. 

But  henceforth  the  Valley  of  Andorra  will  be  one  of  mjf 
enthusiasms. 


THE  GRANDE  CHARTREUSE. 


On  my  way  from  the  Pyrenees  to  Germany,  I  tumed 
aside  from  the  Rhone  highway  of  travel  to  make  acquaint- 
ance with  a  place  of  which  everybody  has  heard,  yet  which 
seems  to  have  been  partly  dropped  from  the  rapid  itinera- 
ries which  have  come  into  fashion  with  railways.  This  is 
the  celebrated  monastery  called  the  "  Grande  Chartreuse," 
situated  in  an  Alpine  wilderness  known  as  the  "  Desert," 
on  the  borders  of  Savoy.  During  the  last  century,  when 
Gray  and  Horace  Walpole  penetrated  into  those  solitudes, 
it  was  a  well-known  point  of  interest  in  the  "  grand  tour  ;  " 
but  it  seems  to  have  been  neglected  during  and  since  the 
great  upheaval  of  the  French  Revolution  and  the  Napo- 
leonic Empire.  The  name,  however,  is  kept  alive  on 
the  tongues  of  gourmands  by  a  certain  greenish,  pungent, 
perfumed  liquor,  which  comes  upon  their  tables  at  the  end 
of  (Jinner. 

The  traveller  from  Lyons  to  Marseilles  passes  within  a 
six-hours'  journey  of  the  Grande  Chartreuse.  If  he  leave 
the  train  at  Valence,  the  branch  road  to  Grenoble  will 
take  him  up  the  Valley  of  the  Isere,  and  he  will  soon  ex 
change  the  rocky  vine-slopes  of  the  Rhone  for  Alpine 
scenery  on  a  scale  hardly  surpassed  in  Switzerland.  This 
was  the  route  which  I  took,  on  my  way  northward.  The 
valley  of  the  Isere,  at  first  broad,  and  showing  on  its  flat, 
stony  fields  traces  of  frequent  inundations,  gradually  con- 
tracted ;  the  cultivation  of  silk  gave  place  to  that  of  grain 
and  vines,  and  the  meadows  of  deep  grass,  studded  with 
iuge  walnut-trees,  reproduced,  but  on  a  warmer  and  richer 
scale,  the  character  of  Swiss  scenery.  Night  came  on 
before  I  reached  the  Vale  of  Gresivaudan,  which  is  consid- 


296  bY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

ered  the  paradise  of  Dauphin^,  and  when  the  jain  halted 
at  the  station  of  Voreppe,  it  was  pitch-dark  uncer  a  gather- 
ing rain.  There  was  a  rustic  omnibus  in  waiting,  into 
which  I  crowded  with  a  priest  and  two  farmers,  all  of  whom 
recommended  the  "  Petit  Paris "  as  the  best  inn,  and 
thither,  accordingly,  I  went  when  we  reached  the  village. 

It  was  a  primitive,  but  picturesque  and  inviting  place. 
I  was  ushered  into  a  spacious  kitchen,  with  a  paved  floor 
and  a  huge  stone  range  standing  in  the  centre.  The  iana- 
lady  stood  before  her  pans  and  gave  the  finishing  touch  to 
some  cutlets  while  she  received  njy  orders  and  those  of  the 
priest  The  latter,  when  he  came  into  the  light,  proved  to 
be  a  young  man,  pale,  thin,  and  melancholy,  with  a  worn 
breviary  under  his  arm.  He  asked  to  have  a  bed  imme- 
diately. In  an  adjoining  room,  a  company  of  peasants  were 
drinking  cider  and  thin  wine,  and  discussing  crops  around 
a  deal"  table.  I  listened  awhile,  but  finding  it  impossible 
to  understand  their  dialect,  followed  the  example  of  the 
priest.  The  landlady  gave  me  a  clean  bed  in  a  clean  room, 
and  I  speedily  slept  in  spite  of  rain  and  thunder. 

I  had  barely  taken  coffee  in  the  morning  before  an  om- 
nibus drove  up,  on  its  way  to  St.  Laurent  du  Pont,  a^  vil- 
lage at  the  mouth  of  the^  ravine  which  descends  from  the 
Grande  Chartreuse.  There  was  a  place  inside,  between 
two  sharp-featured  women  and  opposite  another  priest,  who 
was  middle-aged  and  wore  an  air  of  cheerful  resignation. 
This  place  I  occupied,  and  was  presently  climbing  the 
long  mountain  road,  with  a  glorious  picture  of  the  Vale 
of  Gr^sivaudan  deepening  and  widening  below.  Half- 
way up  the  mountains  beyond  the  Isere  floated  shining 
belts  of  cloud,  the  shadows  of  which  mottled  the  sunlit 
fields  and  gardens.  Above  us,  huge  walls  of  perpendicular 
rock,  crowned  with  forests,  shut  out  the  morning  sky,  bu* 
the  glens  plunging  down  from  their  bases  were  filled  with 
the  most  splendid  vegetation.  Our  way  upward  was 
through  the  shadows  of  immense  walnut-trees,  beside  the 


THE  GRANDE  CHARTEEUiE.  297 

rushing  of  crystal  brooks,  and  in  the  perfume  of  blossom 
ing  grass  and  millions  of  meadow  flowers.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  we  should  be  approaching  a  "  Desert  * 
through  such  scenery. 

My  fellow-travellers  were  inclined  to  be  social.  "We  lost 
the  women  at  the  first  little  hamlet  above  Voreppe,  and 
there  only  remained  the  priest  and  a  stout,  swaggering 
person,  who  had  the  appearance  and  manners  of  a  govern- 
ment contractor.  The  former  told  us  that  he  had  a  parish 
on  the  high,  windy  table-lands  of  Champagne,  and  had 
never  before  seen  such  wonderful  mountain  landscapes. 
He  was  now  on  his  way  to  Rome  —  one  of  the  army  of 
six  thousand  "  migratory  ravens  "  (as  the  Italians  called 
them),  who  took  part  in  the  Festival  of  St.  Peter.  He  was 
cheerful  and  tolerant,  with  more  heart  than  intellect,  and 
we  got  on  very  agreeably.  The  contractor  informed  us 
that  the  monks  of  the  Chartreuse  had  an  income  of  a  mil- 
lion francs  a  year,  a  part  of  which  they  spend  in  building 
churches  and  schools.  They  have  recently  built  a  new 
church  for  the  village  of  St.  Laurent  du  Pont. 

In  an  hour  or  more  we  had  reached  the  highest  point  of 
the  road,  which  now  ran  eastward  along  the  base  of  a  line 
of  tremendous  mountains.  On  the  topmost  heights,  above 
the  gray  ramparts  of  rock,  there  were  patches  of  a  bright 
rosy  color,  which  I  at  first  took  to  be  the  Alpine  rhododen- 
dron  in  blossom,  but  they  proved  to  be  forests  of  beech, 
which  the  recent  severe  frosts  had  scorched.  The  streams 
from  the  heights  dropped  into  gulfs  yawning  at  the  base 
of  the  mountains,  making  cataracts  of  several  hundred 
feet  Here  the  grain,  already  harvested  in  the  valley  of 
the  Rhone,  was  still  green,  and  the  first  crop  of  hay  uncut. 

St  Laurent  du  Pont  is  a  little  village  directly  in  the 
mouth  of  the  gorge.  The  omnibus  drew  up  before  the 
caft,  and  my  clerical  friend  got  into  a  light  basket  wagon 
for  the  journey  to  the  monastery,  two  leagues  distant-  I 
preferred  to  climb  the  gorge  leisurely,  on  foot,  and  set 


298  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

about  engaging  a  man  as  companion  rather  than  gi*{de 
The  sky  was  full  of  suspicious  clouds,  there  were  mutter^ 
ings  of  thunder  in  the  mountains,  and  the  sun  stung  with 
an  insupportable  power ;  but  after  breakfast  I  set  out  with 
a  middle-aged  man,  who  had  an  eye  to  profit,  followed  the 
stream  for  a  mile,  and  found  myself  in  the  heart  of  a  ter- 
rific wilderness  of  rock  and  forest.  In  front  the  mountains 
closed,  and  only  a  thin  line  of  shadow  revealed  the  split 
through  which  we  must  pass.  Before  reaching  it,  there  is 
an  ancient  forge  on  the  left,  and  a  massive  building  on  the 
right,  which  the  monks  have  recently  erected  for  the  man- 
ufacture of  the  liqueur  which  bears  the  name  of  their  moii' 
astery. 

Just  beyond  the  forge  are  the  remains  of  an  ancient  gate, 
which  once  closed  the  further  passage.  The  road  is  hewn 
out  of  the  solid  rock,  and  the  sides  of  the  cleft  are  so  near 
together  that  the  masonry  supporting  the  road  is  held  firm 
by  timbers  crossing  the  abyss  and  morticed  into  the  op- 
posite rock.  Formerly  there  was  only  a  narrow  and  dan- 
gerous mule-path,  and  the  passage  must  have  had  an  exhil- 
arating  character  of  danger  which  the  present  security  of 
the  road  destroys.  It  was  so  in  Gray's  time,  inspiring  him 
with  these  almost  Horatian  lines  :  — 

"  Per  invias  rapes,  fera  per  jaga, 
Clivosque  prffimptos,  sonantes 

Inter  aquas,  nemommqae  noctem." 

This  closed  throat  of  the  mountains  is  short :  it  soon  ex- 
pands a  little,  allowing  the  splendid  deciduous  forests  to 
descend  to  the  water's  brink.  But  above,  on  all  sides,  the 
rocks  start  out  in  sheer  walls  and  towers,  and  only  a  nar- 
row strip  of  sky  is  visible  between  their  crests.  Aft«r  a 
mile  of  this  scenery  I  reached  a  saw-mill,  beside  which 
there  was  some  very  fine  timber.  Still  another  mile,  and 
the  road  was  carried  across  the  defile  by  a  lofty  stone 
bridge  of  a  single  arch.    '^  This  is  the  bridge  of  San 


THE  GKANDE  CHARTREUSE.  299 

Bruuo,"  said  the  guide,  "  and  we  are  now  just  half-way  to 
the  monastery."  In  spite  of  the  shadows  of  the  forests,  the 
Air  was  ahnost  stifling  in  its  still  heat,  and  I  sat  down  on 
the  parapet  of  the  bridge  to  take  breath.  This  was  the 
"  Desert,"  whither  the  Bishop  of  Grenoble  directed  San 
Bruno  to  fly  from  the  temptations  of  the  world.  At  that 
time  it  could  have  been  accessible  only  with  great  labor 
and  danger,  and  was  much  more  secluded  than  the  caves 
of  the  Thebaid.  But  the  word  conveys  no  idea  of  the 
character  of  the  scenery.  For  the  whole  distance  it  is  a 
deep  cleft  in  the  heart  of  lofty  mountains,  overhung  with 
precipices  a  thousand  feet  high,  yet  clothed,  wherever  a 
root  can  take  hold,  by  splendid  forests.  Ferns  and  wild 
flowers  hang  from  every  ledge,  and  the  trees  are  full  of 
singing  birds. 

Still  climbing,  we  mounted  high  above  the  stream,  and 
in  twenty  minutes  reached  a  natural  gateway,  formed  by  a 
solitary  pillar  of  rock,  three  hundred  feet  high,  and  not 
more  than  forty  feet  in  diameter.  Here,  six  weeks  before, 
a  wagon  with  six  young  peasants  went  over  the  brink,  and 
fell  into  the  terrible  abyss.  The  driver,  whose  carelessness 
occasioned  the  accident,  leaped  from  the  wagon  ;  the  other 
five  went  down,  and  were  dashed  to  pieces.  Between  the 
aiguille  (needle),  as  it  is  called,  and  the  mountain-wall, 
there  was  formerly  a  gate,  beyond  which  no  woman  was 
allowed  to  pass.  The  sex  is  now  permitted  to  visit  the 
monastery,  but  not  to  enter  its  gates.  This  part  of  the 
road  is  almost  equal  to  the  famous  Via  Mala.  A  series  of 
tunnels  have  been  cut  through  the  sheer,  projecting  crags, 
the  intervening  portions  of  the  road  being  built  up  with 
great  labor  from  below.  One  hangs  in  mid-air  over  the 
dark  chasm,  where  the  foam  of  the  rushing  waters  shines 
like  a  phosphoric  light. 

Finally,  the  slope  of  the  mountains  becomes  less  abrupt, 
the  shattered  summits  lean  back,  and  the  glen  grows 
brighter  under  a  broader  field  of  sky.     On  the  right  the 


800  BY-WAYS  OF  EUEOPE. 

forests  are  interrupted  by  pasture  grounds ;  the  road  is  now 
safe,  though  very  steep,  and  the  buildings  of  the  monastery 
presently  come  into  view,  a  mass  of  quadrangular  piles  of 
masonry,  towers,  and  pyramidal  roofs,  inclosed  by  a  high 
wall  which  must  be  considerably  more  than  a  mile  in  cir- 
cuit. The  place,  in  fact,  resembles  a  fortified  city.  The 
gateway  was  closed  on  the  side  by  which  I  approached^  but 
an  old  monk,  with  shaven  head  and  flowing  beard,  who  was 
driving  an  ox-cart  (the  first  time  I  ever  saw  one  of  his 
class  so  usefully  employed),  directed  me  to  go  around  to 
the  eastern  front.  An  isolated  house,  shaded  by  a  group 
of  old  linden-trees,  is  set  apart  for  the  use  of  the  female 
visitors,  who  are  attended  by  an  old  woman,  usually  a  sister 
of  some  conventual  order. 

My  guide  rang  the  bell  at  the  entrance,  and  the  door 
was  immediately  opened  by  a  young  monk  in  a  long,  brown 
gown.  "  Can  I  be  admitted  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Yes,"  said  he 
in  a  whisper,  "  the  guide  will  take  you  to  the  father  who 
receives  strangers."  I  was  conducted  across  a  grassy 
court-yard,  in  which  there  were  two  large  stone  fountains, 
to  the  main  building.  Several  brethren  in  brown  were 
passing  swiftly  to  and  fro  in  the  cool,  spacious  corridors, 
but  they  took  no  notice  of  me.  I  found  the  father  in  a 
comfortable  chamber,  hung  with  maps.  He  was  a  bright, 
nimble  man  of  sixty,  with  shaven  head  and  face ;  but  for 
his  keen  eyes,  he  would  not  have  seemed  more  than  half 
alive,  his  complexion  and  his  shroud-like  gown  being 
nearly  the  same  color.  I  told  him  who  I  was,  why  I  came, 
and  asked  permission  to  stay  until  the  next  day.  "  Cer- 
tainly," he  whispered,  "  as  long  as  you  please.  I  will  show 
you  into  the  refectory,  and  order  that  you  have  a  room." 

I  was  somewhat  unwell,  and  the  heat  and  fatigue  had 
made  me  weak,  which  the  father  pxobably  noticed,  for  on 
reaching  the  refectory  —  a  great,  bare  apartment,  with  an 
old-fashioned  chinmey-place  for  burning  logs  —  he  said : 
"  You  must  have  a  glass  of  our  liqueury  the  green  kind, 


THE   GRANDE   OHARTREUSE.  801 

which  is  the  strongest."  It  was  like  an  aromatic  flame, 
but  it  really  gave  me  a  different  view  of  life,  in  the  space 
of  fifteen  minutes.  The  gargon  was  a  sturdy  fellow  in  a 
blue  blouse,  evidently  a  peasant  hired  for  the  season.  His 
services  were  confined  to  the  refectory.  Another  brother 
in  brown,  with  a  mild,  ignorant  countenance,  conducted  me 
to  an  upper  chamber,  or  rather  cell,  containing  a  bed,  a 
table,  a  chair,  and  bowl  of  water,  with  a  large  private  altar 
and  prie-dieu.  Having  taken  possession  and  put  the  key 
in  my  pocket,  I  returned  to  the  refectory,  where  the  white 
father  begged  me  to  make  myself  at  home,  and  likewise 
vanished.  There  are  fixed  hours  when  strangers  are  con- 
ducted through  the  buildings,  and,  as  I  had  still  some  time 
to  wait,  I  went  forth  from  the  monastery  and  set  to  work 
at  a  sketch  of  the  place. 

The  monks  of  the  Chartreuse  now  belong  to  the  order 
of  La  Trappe.  San  Bruno  first  came  hither  in  the  year 
1084,  and  the  foundation  of  the  monastery  dates  from  1137. 
The  Trappist,  or  silent  system,  arose  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, but  I  am  ignorant  of  the  date  when  it  was  here  in- 
troduced. It  is  probably  the  severest  and  most  unnatural 
of  all  forms  of  monastic  discipline.  Isolation  is  cruel 
enough  in  itself,  without  the  obligation  of  silence.  The 
use  of  monasteries,  as  conservatories  of  learning,  as  sanc- 
tuaries of  peace  in  the  midst  of  normal  war,  has  long  since 
ceased  :  they  are  now  an  anachronism  and  they  will  soon 
become  an  offense.  The  grand  pile  of  buildings  before  me 
was  ravaged  during  the  French  Revolution,  and  the  monks 
turned  adrift.  Although  the  government  still  keeps  its 
hold  on  the  greater  part  of  the  property  then  sequestrated, 
it  has  favored  the  monastery  in  every  other  possible  way. 
France  swarms  with  black  robes,  as  it  has  not  before  for  a 
hundred  years.  The  Empress  Eugenie  is  a  petted  daughter 
of  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  the  willing  instrument  of  its 
plans,  so  far  as  her  influence  extends.  The  monks  of  La 
Chartreuse,  however,  to  judge  from  what  I  saw  of  theii 


302  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

industry  and  business  talent,  are  far  less  objectionable  than 
those  of  their  brethren  who  are  not  bound  to  solitude  and 
silence. 

At  the  appointed  hour  I  was  again  admitted  with  a  whis 
per,  and  joined  three  dark  priests  (also  on  their  way  tc 
Rome)  for  a  tour  of  the  interior.  The  mild  brother  in 
brown  was  our  guide.  After  calling  our  attention  to  a 
notice  which  requested  that  all  visitors  to  the  monastery 
would  neither  stand  still  nor  speak  above  their  breath,  he 
unlocked  a  gate  and  ushered  us  into  the  inner  corridors. 
We  walked  down  the  dim  echoing  vaults  of  solid  masonry 
and  paused  at  a  door,  through  which  came  the  sound 
of  a  sepulchral  chant.  It  was  the  church,  wherein  two 
ancient  fathers  were  solemnly  intoning  a  service  which 
seemed  like  a  miserere.  The  brother  conducted  us  to  an 
upper  gallery,  dipped  his  fingers  into  the  font,  and  pre- 
sented the  holy  water  to  me  with  a  friendly  smile.  I  am 
afraid  he  was  cut  to  the  heart  when  I  shook  my  head,  say- 
ing :  '■  Thank  you,  I  don't  need  it."  There  was  an  ex- 
pression of  stupefaction  in  his  large,  innocent  eyes,  and 
thenceforward  he  kept  near  me,  always  turning  to  me  with 
a  tender,  melancholy  interest,  as  if  hoping  and  praying  that 
there  might,  for  me,  be,  some  escape  from  the  hell  of 
heretics. 

There  was  nothing  worthy  of  notice  in  the  architecture 
of  the  church,  or  the  various  chapels.  That  for  the  dead 
was  hung  with  skulls  and  cross-bones,  on  a  ground  of 
black  ;  the  grave-yard,  in  which  the  dead  monks  lie,  like 
the  Quakers,  under  unmarked  mounds,  was  more  cheerful. 
Here,  at  least,  grass  and  wild-flowers  are  not  prohibited, 
the  sweetest  mountain  breezes  find  their  way  over  the 
monastic  walls,  and  the  blue  sky  above  is  filled  with  a 
silence,  in  which  there  is  nothing  painful.  The  most  in- 
teresting thing  I  saw  was  the  Hall  of  the  Order,  filled  with 
portraits  of  its  generals,  and  with  frescoes  illustrating  the 
life  of  San  Bruno.     A  statue  of  the  Saint  represents  him 


THE   GRANDE   CHARTREUSE.  808 

as  a  venerable  man,  of  pure,  noble,  and  benevolent  aspect. 
Tlie  head,  I  suspect,  is  imaginary,  but  it  is  very  fine.  As 
works  of  art,  the  pictures  have  no  merit ;  the  three  priests, 
however,  looked  upon  them  with  awful  reverence.  So 
much  depends  on  place,  circumstance,  and  sentiment! 
Tlie  brush  of  Raphael  could  have  added  nothing  to  the 
impression  which  these  men  drew  from  the  stiff  workman- 
ship of  some  unknown  painter. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  extent  of  the  buildings.  There 
is  a  single  corridor,  Gothic,  of  solid  stone,  six  hundred  and 
sixty  feet  in  length.  Looking  down  it,  the  perspective 
dwindles  almost  to  a  point.  Opening  from  it  and  from  the 
other  intersecting  corridors  are  the  cells  of  the  monks,  each 
with  a  Biblical  sentence  in  Latin  (generally  of  solemn  im- 
port) painted  on  the  doors.  The  furniture  of  these  cells  is 
very  simple,  but  a  human  skull  is  always  part  of  it.  In  the 
rear  of  each  is  a  small  garden,  inclosed  by  a  wall,  where 
the  fathers  and  brothers  attend  to  their  own  flowers  and 
vegetables.  They  must  have,  it  seems,  some  innocent  sol- 
ace ;  the  silence,  the  fasting,  the  company  of  the  skull,  and 
the  rigid  ceremonials,  would  else,  I  imagine,  drive  the  most 
of  them  mad.  Those  whom  we  met  in  the  corridor  walked 
with  an  excited,  flying  step,  as  if  trying  to  outrun  their  own 
thoughts.  Their  faces  were  pale  and  stern  ;  they  rarely 
looked  at  us,  and,  of  course,  never  spoke.  The  gloom  and 
silence,  the  hushed  whispers  of  the  priests  and  guide,  and 
the  prohibition  put  upon  my  own  tongue,  oppressed  me 
painfully  at  last.  I  longed  to  startle  the  dead  repose  of 
the  corridors  by  a  shout  full  of  freedom  and  rejoicing. 

There  are  at  present  forty  patres  and  twenty /ra^res  in  the 
monastery.  The  direction  of  external  matters  is  intrusted 
to  a  few,  who  enjoy  more  contact  with  the  world,  and  must 
be  absolved  from  the  obligation  of  silence.  Moreover  the 
rules  in  this  respect  are  not  so  strenuously  enforced  as 
formerly.  The  monks  are  allowed  to  converse  slightly  on 
Sundays  and  saints'  days,  and  once  a  week,  when  they  walk 


804  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

in  procession  to  the  Chapel  of  St.  Bruno,  higher  up  the 
mountain.  An  experienced  father  has  charge  of  the  manu- 
facture of  the  liqueur,  which  is  made,  I  learned,  from  the 
young  shoots  of  the  mountain  fir,  mixed  with  certain 
aromatic  herbs.  Some  parts  of  the  process  are  kept  secret. 
The  Chartretise  is  sold,  even  on  the  spot,  at  a  high  price, 
and  is  sent  to  all  parts  of  the  world. 

When  we  returned  to  the  refectory,  I  found  several 
gentlemen  from  Chambery  in  waiting.  They,  also,  in- 
tended to  stay  all  night,  and  to  start  at  one  in  the  morning  for 
the  ascent  of  the  Grand  Somme,  the  highest  pmnacleof  the 
mountain.  I  predicted  rain,  but  they  were  not  to  be  dis- 
couraged. The  result  was,  as  I  learned  next  morning,  that 
they  rose  at  the  appointed  time,  groped  about  in  the  for- 
est in  perfect  darkness,  and  came  back  in  half  an  hour 
drenched  to  the  skin.  The  servitor  informed  me  that  two 
Englishmen  had  arrived,  and  were  entertained  in  another 
part  of  the  monastery.  I  learned  for  the  first  time  that,  the 
better  to  preserve  quiet  and  order,  the  guests  are  separated 
according  to  their  nationalities.  This  explained  the  mean- 
ing of  "  Salle  de  la  France  "  on  the  door  of  the  hall  in  which 
I  found  myself.  Americans  are  rare  visitors,  and  I  presume 
they  thought  it  safest  to  put  me  with  the  Frenchmen. 

It  is  always  Lent  in  (he  Grand  Chartreuse.  Neverthe- 
less, the  dinner  of  eggs,  fish,  fruits,  cheese,  and  wine  which 
was  served  to  us  was  of  excellent  quality.  The  bed  was 
coarse  but  clean,  and  after  putting  out  my  lamp  to  hide  the 
reproachful  eyes  of  the  Virgin,  I  slept  soundly.  Breakfast, 
however,  was  a  little  too  lean  for  my  taste.  Instead  of  coffee 
they  gave  me  half-cooked  cabbage  soup  and  a  lump  of  black 
bread.  The  bill  was  five  francs.  Herein,  I  think,  the  monks 
are  right  They  make  a  moderate  charge  for  what  they 
furnish,  instead  of  expecting  .he  traveller  (as  in  other 
monasteries)  to  give  five  times  the  worth  of  it  as  a  dona- 
tion. Living  in  such  a  wilderness,  at  the  height  of  4,300 
feet  above  the  sea,  it  is  a  great  labor  to  keep  the  requisite 


THF   GRANDE   CHARTREUSE.  806 

supplies  on  hand.  Poor  travellers  are  not  only  lodged  and 
fed  gratuitously,  but  sometimes  receive  a  small  addition  to 
their  funds. 

Nevertheless,  while  I  felt  a  positive  respect  for  the  indus- 
try, fortitude,  and  charity  of  the  monks  of  the  Chartreuse,  I 
drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  as  I  issued  from  its  whispering 
corridors.  I  believe  I  talked  to  my  guide  in  a  much  louder 
voice  than  usual,  as  we  returned  down  the  gorge.  The  visit 
had  been  full  of  interest,  yet  I  could  not  have  guessed,  in 
advance,  how  oppressive  was  the  prohibition  of  speech.  I 
shall  never  again  admire  the  silent  and  solitary  system  of 
some  of  our  penitentiaries. 

At  St.  Laurent  du  Pont  I  took  the  omnibus,  getting  a 
front  seat  beside  the  coachman,  which  I  kept,  not  only  to 
Voreppe,  but  down  the  magnificent  valley  of  Gresivaudan 
to  Grenoble.  The  mountains,  on  the  side  toward  the  Isere, 
appear  to  be  absolutely  inaccessible.  No  one  would  guess, 
on  looking  up  at  them  from  below,  what  a  remarkable  settle 
ment  has  existed  for  centuries  within  their  solitude*. 


THE  KYFFHAUSER  AND  ITS  LEGENDS. 


Thdringia,  "  The  Heart  of  Germany,"  has  for  many  a 
centuiy  ceased  to  be  a  political  designation,  yet  it  still  lives 
in  the  mouths  and  the  songs  of  the  people  as  the  well- 
beloved  name  for  all  that  middle  region  lying  between  the 
Hartz  on  the  north  and  the  mountain-chain  stretching  from 
the  Main  to  the  Elbe  on  the  south.  A  few  points,  such  as 
Eisenach,  Weimar,  and  Jena,  are  known  to  the  tourist ;  the 
greater  part,  although  the  stage  whereon  many  of  the  most 
important  events  in  early  and  mediaeval  German  history 
were  enacted,  has  not  yet  felt  the  footstep  of  the  curious 
stranger.  From  the  overthrow  of  its  native  monarchy  by 
the  Franks,  in  the  sixth  century,  to  the  close  of  Ihe  Thirty 
Years'  War,  in  the  seventeenth,  the  fortunes  of  this  land 
symbolized,  in  a  great  measure,  those  of  the  Teutonic  race. 
Behind  battle  and  crime  and  knightly  deed  sprang  up  those 
flowers  of  legend  whose  mature  seed  is  poetry.  In  no  part 
of  Europe  do  they  blossom  so  thickly  as  here. 

I  had  already  stood  in  the  hall  of  the  Minnesingers  on  the 
Wartburg  ;  had  crept  into  the  Cave  of  Venus,  on  the  moun- 
tain of  Tannhjiuser  ;  had  walked  through  the  Valley  of  Joy, 
where  the  two  wives  of  the  Count  of  Gleichen  first  met  face 
to  face ;  and  had  stood  on  the  spot  where  Winfried,  the 
English  apostle,  cut  down  the  Druid  oaks,  and  set  up  in 
their  stead  the  first  altar  to  Christ.  But  on  the  northern 
border  of  Thiiringia,  where  its  last  mountains  look  across 
the  Golden  Mead  towards  the  dark  summits  of  the  Hartz, 
there  stands  a  castle,  in  whose  ruins  sleeps  the  favorite 
tradition  of  Germany, — a  legend  which,  changing  with  the 
ages,  became  the  embodiment  of  an  idea,  and  now  repre- 
sents the  national  unity,  strength,  and  freedom.     This  is 


310  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

the  Kyffhauser;  and  the  Emperor  Frederick  Barbarossa 
sWps  under  it,  in  a  crypt  of  the  mountain,  waiting  for  the 
day  when  the  whole  land,  from  the  Baltic  to  the  Alps,  shall 
be  ready  to  receive  a  single  ruler.  Then  he  will  come  forth, 
and  the  lost  Empir<>  will  be  restored. 

Many  a  time,  looking  towards  the  far-away  Brocken  frona 
the  heights  of  the  Thiiringian  Forest,  had  I  seen  the  tower 
of  the  Kyffhauser  like  a  speck  on  the  horizon,  and  as  often 
had  resolved  to  cross  the  twenty  intervening  leagues.  The 
day  was  appointed  and  postponed  —  for  years,  as  it  hap- 
pened ;  but  a  desire  which  is  never  given  up  works  out  its 
own  fulfillment  in  the  course  of  time,  and  so  it  was  with 
mine.  It  is  not  always  best  to  track  a  legend  too  closely. 
The  airy  brow  of  Tannhauser's  Mountain  proved  to  be  very 
ugly  rock  and  very  tenacious  clay,  when  I  had  climbed  it ; 
and  I  came  forth  from  the  narrow  slit  of  a  cavern  torn, 
squeezed  out  of  breath,  and  spotted  with  tallow.  Some- 
thing of  the  purple  atmosphere  of  the  mountain  and  the 
mystery  of  its  beautiful  story  has  vanished  since  then.  But 
the  day  of  my  departure  for  the  Kyffhauser  was  meant  for 
an  excursion  into  dream-land.  When  the  Summer,  depart- 
ing, stands  with  reluctant  feet ;  when  the  Autumn  looks 
upon  the  land,  yet  has  not  taken  up  her  fixed  abode  ;  when 
the  freshness  of  Spring  is  revived  in  every  cloudless  morn- 
ing, and  the  afternoons  melt  slowly  into  smoke  and  golden 
vapor,  —  then  comes,  for  a  short  space,  the  season  of  illu- 
sion, of  credulity,  of  winsome  superstition. 

On  such  a  day  I  went  northward  from  Gotha  into  a 
boundless,  undulating  region  of  tawny  harvest  and  stubble 
fields.  The  plain  behind  me,  stretching  to  the  foot  of  the 
Thiiringian  Forest,  was  covered  with  a  silvery,  shimmering 
atmosphere,  on  which  the  scattered  villages,  the  orchards, 
and  the  poplar-bordered  highways  were  dimly  blotted,  like 
the  first  timid  sketch  of  a  picture,  which  shall  grow  into 
clear,  confident  color.  Far  and  wide,  over  the  fields,  the 
peasants  worked   silently  and  steadily  among  their  flax, 


TIIE  KYFFHAUSER   and   ITS   LEGENDS.  3H 

oats,  and  potatoes,  —  perhaps  rejoicing  in  the  bounty  of  the 
sunshine,  but  too  much  in  earnest  to  think  of  singing. 
Only  the  harvest  of  the  vine  is  gathered  to  music.  The 
old  swallows  collected  their  flocks  of  young  on  the 
ploughed  land,  and  drilled  them  for  the  homeward  flight 
The  sheep,  kept  together  in  a  dense  gray  mass,  nibbled 
diligently  among  the  stubble,  guarded  only  by  a  restless 
dog.  At  a  corner  of  the  field  the  box-house  of  the  shep- 
herd rested  %n  its  wheels,  and  he  was  probably  asleep 
within  it  Wains,  laden  with  sheaves,  rumbled  slowly 
along  the  road  towards  the  village  bams.  Only  the  ravens 
wheeled  and  croaked  uneasily,  as  if  they  had  a  great  deal 
of  work  to  do,  and  couldn't  decide  what  to  undertake  first 
I  stretched  myself  out  luxuriously  in  the  carriage,  and 
basked  in  the  tempered  sunshine.  I  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  watch  the  mellow  colors  of  the  broadening  landscape,  as 
we  climbed  the  long  waves  of  earth,  stretching  eastward  and 
westward  out  of  sight.  Those  mixed,  yet  perfect  moods 
which  come  equally  from  the  delight  of  the  senses  and 
the  release  of  the  imagination,  seem  to  be  the  very  essence 
of  poetry,  yet  how  rarely  do  they  become  poetry !  The 
subtile  spirit  of  song  cannot  often  hang  poised  in  thin  air ; 
it  must  needs  rest  on  a  basis,  however  slender,  of  feeling 
or  reflection.  Eichendorff"  is  the  only  poet  to  whom  com- 
pletely belongs  the  narrow  border-land  of  moods  and  sen- 
sations. Yet  the  key-note  of  the  landscape  around  me 
was  struck  by  Tennyson  in  a  single  fortunate  word,  — 

"  In  looking  on  the  hajynj  Autumn-fields." 

The  earth  had  finished  its  summer  work  for  man,  and  now 
breathed  of  rest  and  peace  from  tree,  and  bush,  and  shorn 
stubble,  and  reviving  grass.  It  was  still  the  repose  of  lusty 
life ;  the  beginning  of  death,  the  sadness  of  the  autumn 
was  to  come. 

In  crossing  the  last  hill,  before  descending  to  the  city  of 
Langensalza,  I  saw  one  of  the  many  reverse  sides  of  this 
fiiir   picture  of   life.     A  peasant   girl,  ragged,  dusty,  and 


312  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

tired,  with  a  young  child  in  her  lap,  sat  on  a  stone  seat  bj 
the  wayside.  She  had  no  beauty ;  her  face  was  brown  and 
hard,  her  hair  tangled,  her  figure  rude  and  strong,  and  she 
held  the  child  with  a  mechanical  clasp,  in  which  there  was 
instinct,  but  not  tenderness.  Yet  it  needed  but  a  single 
glance  to  read  a  story  of  poverty,  and  of  shame  and  de- 
sertion ignorantly  encountered  and  helplessly  endured. 
Here  was  no  acute  sense  of  degradation ;  only  a  blind? 
brutish  wretchedness.  It  seemed  to  me,  fli  I  saw  her, 
looking  stolidly  into  the  sunny  air,  that  she  was  repeating 
the  questions,  over  and  over,  without  hope  of  answer: 
"  Why  am  I  in  the  world  ?     What  is  to  become  of  me  ?  " 

At  Langensalza  I  took  a  lighter  carriage,  drawn  by  a 
single  horse,  which  was  harnessed  loosely  on  the  left  side 
of  a  long  pole.  Unfortunately  I  had  a  garrulous  old  driver 
who  had  seen  something  of  last  year's  battle,  and  supposed 
that  nothing  could  interest  me  more  than  to  know  precisely 
where  certain  Prussian  regiments  were  posted.  Before  I 
had  divined  his  intention,  he  left  the  highway,  and  carried 
ine  across  the  fields  to  the  top  of  the  Jews'  Hill,  which  was 
occupied  at  the  commencement  of  the  battle  by  the  Prus- 
sian artillery.  The  turf  is  still  marked  with  the  ragged 
holes  of  the  cannon-balls.  In  the  plain  below,  many  trees 
are  slowly  dying  from  an  overdose  of  lead.  In  the  fields 
which  the  farmers  were  ploughing  one  sees  here  and  there 
a  headstone  of  granite  or  an  iron  crucifix ;  but  all  other 
traces  of  the  struggle  have  disappeared.  The  little  mill, 
which  was  the  central  point  of  the  fight,  has  been  well  re- 
paired ;  only  some  cannon-balls,  grim  souvenirs,  are  left 
sticking  in  the  gable-wall.  A  mile  further,  across  the 
Unstrut,  at  the  commencement  of  the  rising  country,  is  the 
village  of  Merxleben,  where  the  Hanoverians  were  posted. 
Its  streets  are  as  dull  and  sleepy  as  ever  before.  Looking 
at  the  places  where  the  plaster  has  been  knocked  off  the 
houses,  one  would  not  guess  the  instruments  by  which  i1 
was  done. 


THE   KYFFHAUSER   AND   ITS   LEGENDS.  811 

Some  distance  further,  at  a  safe  height,  my  old  mat 
halted  beside  two  poplars.  "  Here,"  he  said,  "  the  King 
of  Hanover  stood."  Did  he  keep  up  the  mimicry  of  sight, 
I  wonder,  while  the  tragedy  was  going  on  ?  This  blind 
sovereign  represents  the  spirit  of  monarchy  in  its  purest 
essence.  Though  totally  blind,  from  a  boy,  he  pretends 
to  see,  because  —  the  people  must  perceive  no  defect  in  a 
king.  When  he  rides  out,  the  adjutants  on  both  sides  are 
attached  to  his  arms  by  fine  threads ;  and  he  is  thus 
guided,  while  appearing  to  guide  himself.  He  visits  pic- 
ture-galleries, admires  landscapes,  and  makes  remarks 
upon  the  good  or  ill  appearance  of  his  courtiers.  After 
the  battle  of  Langensalza,  which  he  pretended  to  direct, 
he  sent  his  uniform  to  the  museum  at  Hanover,  with  some 
straws  and  wheat-blades  from  the  field  where  he  stood 
sewed  upon  it  in  various  places  I  Other  monarchs  of 
Europe  have  carried  the  tattered  trappings  of  absolutism 
into  a  constitutional  form  of  government,  but  none  of  them 
has  been  so  exquisitely  consistent  as  this  man. 

We  plodded  forward  over  vast  tawny  waves  of  land- 
scape, as  regular  as  the  swells  of  the  sea.  All  this  terri- 
tory, once  so  rich  and  populous,  was  reduced  to  a  desert 
during  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  and  two  centuries  have 
barely  sufficed  to  reclaim  it.  After  that  war,  Germany 
possessed  only  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  men,  the  cattle, 
and  the  dwellings  which  she  owned  when  it  began,  and 
this  was  the  least  of  the  evil.  The  new  generation  had 
grown  up  in  insecurity,  in  idleness,  immorality,  and  crime ; 
the  spirit  of  the  race  was  broken,  its  blood  was  tainted, 
and  it  has  ever  since  then  been  obliged  to  struggle  from 
decadence  into  new  power.  We  must  never  lose  sight  of 
these  facts  when  we  speak  of  the  Germany  of  the  present 
day.  Well  for  us  that  we  have  felt  only  the  shock  and 
struggle,  the  first  awakening  of  the  manly  element,  not  the 
later  poison  of  war  ! 

After  more  than  two  hours  on  the  silent,  lonely  heightfli 


814  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

—  scarce!)  a  man  being  here  at  work  in  the  fields  of 
abroad  on  the  road,  —  I  approached  a  little  town  called 
Ebeleben,  in  the  principality  of  Schwarzburg-Sondershau- 
sen.  The  driver  insisted  on  baiting  his  horse  at  the  "  mu- 
nicipal tavern,"  as  it  was  called ;  and  I  remembered  that 
in  the  place  lived  a  gentleman  whom  I  had  met  nine  years 
before.  Everybody  knew  the  Amtsrath  ;  he  was  at  home  ; 
it  was  the  large  house  beside  the  castle.  Ebeleben  was 
a  former  residence  of  the  princess ;  but  now  its  wonderful 
rococo  gardens  have  run  wild,  the  founti».ns  and  waterfalls 
are  dry,  the  stone  statues  have  lost  their  noses  and  arms, 
and  the  wooden  sentries  posted  at  all  the  gates  have  rotted 
to  pieces.  The  remains  are  very  funny.  Not  a  particle 
of  melancholy  can  be  attached  to  the  decayed  grotesque. 

I  went  into  the  court-yard  of  the  house  to  which  I  had 
been  directed.  A  huge  parallelogram  of  stone  and  steep 
roofs  inclosed  it ;  there  were  thirteen  ploughs  in  a  row  on 
one  side,  and  three  mountains  of  manure  on  the  other. 
As  no  person  was  to  be  seen,  I  mounted  the  first  flight  of 
steps,  and  found  myself  in  a  vast,  antiquated  kitchen.  A 
servant,  thrusting  her  head  from  behind  a  door,  told  me  to 
go  forward.  Pantries  and  store-rooms  followed,  passages 
filled  with  antique  household  gear,  and  many  a  queer  nook 
and  corner ;  but  I  at  last  reached  the  front  part  of  the 
building,  and  found  its  owner.  His  memory  was  better 
than  I  had  ventured  to  hope  ;  I  was  made  welcome  so 
cordially,  that  only  the  sad  news  that  the  mistress  of  the 
nouse  lay  at  the  point  of  death  made  my  visit  brief.  The 
Amtsrath,  who  farms  a  thousand  acres,  led  me  back  to  the 
tavern  through  his  garden,  saying,  "  We  must  try  and  bear 
all  that  comes  to  us,"  as  I  took  leave. 

A  few  years  ago  there  was  a  wild,  heathery  moorland, 
the  haunt  of  gypsies  and  vagabonds,  beyond  Ebeleben. 
Now  it  is  all  pasture  and  grain-field,  of  thin  and  barren 
aspect,  but  steadily  growing  better.  The  dark-blue  line  1 
had  seen  to  the  north,  during  the  day,  now  took  the  shape 


THE   KYFFHAUSER    AND   ITS   LEGENDS.  816 

of  hills  covered  with  forest,  and  the  road  passed  between 
•hem  into  the  head  of  a  winding  valley.  The  green  of 
Thiiringian  meadows,  the  rich  masses  of  beech  and  oak, 
again  refreshed  my  eyes.  The  valley  broadened  as  it  fell, 
and  the  castle  and  spires  of  Sondershausen  came  into  view. 
An  equipage,  drawn  by  four  horses,  came  dashing  up  from 
a  side-road.  There  were  three  persons  in  it ;  the  short, 
plain-faced  man  in  a  felt  hat  was  the  reigning  prince,  Giin- 
ther  von  Schwarzburg.  There  was  not  much  of  his  illus- 
trious namesake,  the  Emperor,  in  his  appearance ;  but  he 
had  an  honest,  manly  countenance,  and  I  thought  it  no 
harm  to  exchange  greetings. 

I  think  Sondershausen  must  be  the  quietest  capital  in 
Europe.  It  is  said  to  have  six  thousand  inhabitants,  about 
two  hundred  of  whom  I  saw.  Four  were  walking  in  a 
pleasant,  willow-shaded  path  beside  the  mills ;  ten  were 
wandering  in  the  castle-park  ;  and  most  of  the  remainder, 
being  children,  were  playing  in  the  streets.  When  I  left, 
next  morning,  by  post  for  the  nearest  railway  station,  be- 
yond the  Golden  Mead,  I  was  the  only  passenger.  But  the 
place  is  well  built,  and  has  an  air  of  contentment  and 
comfort 

I  was  here  on  the  southern  side  of  the  mountain  ridge 
which  is  crowned  by  the  KyfFhauser,  and  determined  to 
cross  to  Kelbra,  in  the  Golden  Mead,  at  its  northern  base. 
The  valley  was  draped  in  the  silver  mists  of  the  morning 
as  I  set  out ;  and  through  them  rose  the  spire  of  Jecha- 
burg,  still  bearing  the  name  of  the  Druid  divinity  there 
overthrown  by  the  apostle  Winfried.  But  there  was  an- 
other point  in  the  landscape  where  my  fancy  settled  —  the 
Trauenberg,  at  the  foot  of  which  was  fought  the  first  great 
Hunnenschlacht  (battle  of  the  Huns).  When  that  gallant 
emperor,  Henry  the  Bird-Snarer,  sent  a  mangy  dog  to 
Hungary,  instead  of  the  usual  tribute,  he  knew  and  pre- 
pared for  the  consequences  of  his  act.  The  Huns  burst 
into  Germany  ;  he  met  and  defeated  them,  first  here,  and 


816  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

then  near  Merseburg  (a.  d.  933),  so  i  tterly  that  the.? 
never  again  attempted  invasion,  Kaulbach's  finest  cs,rtoon 
represents  one  or  the  other  of  these  battles.  Those  fierce 
groups  of  warriors,  struggling  in  a  weird  atmosphere,  made 
the  airy  picture  which  I  saw.  One  involuntarily  tries  to 
vivify  history,  and  the  imagination  holds  fast  to  any  help. 

After  an  hour  and  a  half  among  the  hills,  I  saw  the 
Golden  Mead,—  so  bright,  so  beautiful,  that  I  compre- 
hended the  love  which  the  German  emperors,  for  centuries, 
manifested  for  it.  I  looked  across  a  level  valley,  five  or 
six  miles  wide,  meadows  green  as  May  interrupting  the 
bands  of  autumnal  gold,  groves  and  winding  lines  of  treei 
marking  the  watercourses,  stately  towns  planted  at  inter- 
vals, broad,  ascending  slopes  of  forest  beyond,  and  the 
summit  of  the  Brocken  crowning  all.  East  and  west,  the 
Mead  faded  out  of  sight  in  shining  haze.  It  is  a  favored 
region.  Its  bounteous  soil  lies  low  and  warm,  sheltered 
by  the  Hartz  ;  it  has  an  earlier  spring  and  a  later  sum- 
mer than  any  other  part  of  Northern  Germany.  This  I 
knew,  but  I  was  not  prepared  to  find  it,  also,  a  delight  to 
the  eye.  Towards  Nordhausen  the  green  was  dazzling, 
and  there  was  a  blaze  of  sunshine  upon  it  which  recalled 
the  plain  of  Damascus., 

At  Kelbra,  I  looked  in  vain  for  the  KyfFhauser,  thougli 
so  near  it;  an  intervening  summit  hides  the  tower.  Ou 
the  nearest  headland  of  the  range,  however,  there  is  a 
ruined  castle  called  the  Rothenburg,  which  has  no  history 
worth  repeating,  but  is  always  visited  by  the  few  who  find 
their  way  hither.  I  procured  a  small  boy  as  guide,  and 
commenced  my  proper  pilgrimage  on  foot.  An  avenue  of 
cherry-trees  gave  but  scanty  shade  from  the  fierce  sun, 
while  crossing  the  level  of  the  Golden  Mead ;  but,  on 
reaching  the  mountain,  I  found  a  path  buried  in  forests. 
It  was  steep,  and  hard  to  climb  ;  and  I  soon  found  reason 
for  congratulation  in  the  fact  that  -he  summit  has  an  tdii- 
tude  of  only  fifteen  hundred  feet.     It  was  attained  at  l»s* ; 


THE  KYFFHA-JSEB   AND  ITS   LEGENDS.  317 

the  woods,  which  had  been  nearly  impenetrable,  ceased 
and  I  found  myself  in  front  of  a  curious  cottage,  with  a 
thatched  roof,  built  against  the  foot  of  a  tall  round  towei 
of  other  days.  There  were  benches  and  tables  under  the 
adjoining  trees  ;  and  a  solid  figure,  with  a  great  white 
beard,  was  moving  about  in  a  semi-subterranean  apartment, 
inserted  among-  the  foundations  of  the  castle. 

Had  it  been  the  Kyff  hauser,  I  should  have  taken  hiin 
for  Barbarossa.  The  face  reminded  me  of  Walt  Whitman, 
and,  verily,  the  man  proved  to  be  a  poet.  I  soon  discov- 
ered the  fact ;  and  when  he  had  given  us  bread  and  b6er, 
he  brought  forth,  for  my  purchase,  the  third  edition  of 
"  Poems  by  the  Hermit  of  the  Rothenburg,"  published  by 
Brockhaus,  Leipzig.  His  name  is  Friedrich  Beyer.  His 
parents  kept  an  inn  on  ground  which  became  the  battle- 
field of  Jena,  three  or  four  years  after  he  was  born  His 
first  recollection  is  of  cannon,  fire,  and  pillage.  This  is  all 
that  I  learned  of  his  history;  his  face  suggests  a  great  deal 
more.  The  traces  of  old  passions,  ambitions,  struggles, 
and  disappointments  have  grown  faint  from  the  exercise  of 
a  cheerful  philosophy.  He  is  proud  to  be  called  a  poet,  yet 
serves  refreshments  with  as  much  alacrity  as  any  ordinary 
JceUner. 

After  a  time  he  brought  an  album,  saying  :  "  I  keep  this 
for  such  poets  as  happen  to  come,  but  there  are  only  two 
names,  perhaps,  that  you  have  ever  heard  —  Ludwig  Storch 
and  Miiller  von  der  Werra.  Uhland  was  once  in  the  Hartz, 
but  he  never  came  here.  Riickert  and  a  great  many  others 
have  written  about  the  Kyff" hauser  and  Barbarossa ;  but 
the  poets,  you  know,  depend  on  their  fancies,  rather  than 
on  what  they  see.  I  can't  go  about  and  visit  them,  so  I 
can  only  become  acquainted  with  the  few  who  travel  this 
way." 

He  then  took  an  immense  tin  speaking-trumpet,  stationed 
himself  on  a  rock,  pointed  the  trumpet  at  an  opposite  ridge 
of  the   mountain,  and   bellowed   forth   four   notes  which 


818  BY-WAYS  OF  EUBOPi. 

sounded  like  the  voice  of  a  dying  bull.  But,  afler  a  pause 
of  silence,  angels  replied.  Tones  of  supernatural  sweet- 
ness filled  the  distant  air,  fading  slowly  upwards,  until  the 
blue,  which  seemed  to  vibrate  like  a  string  that  has  been 
struck,  trembled  into  quiet  again.  It  was  wonderful !  I 
have  heard  many  echoes,  but  no  other  which  so  marvel- 
^usly  translates  the  sounds  of  earth  into  the  lang'\age  of 
heaven.  "  Do  you  notice,"  said  the  poet,  "  how  one  tone 
grows  out  of  the  others,  and  silences  them  ?  "Whatever 
sound  I  make,  that  same  tone  is  produced  —  not  at  first, 
but  it  comes  presently  from  somewhere  else,  and  r^'.akes  it- 
self heard.  I  call  it  reconciliation  —  atonement ;  the  prin- 
ciple in  which  all  human  experience  must  terraina'e.  You 
will  find  a  poem  about  it  in  my  book." 

The  Rothenburg  has  been  a  ruin  for  about  thret  hundred 
years.  It  was  a  small  castle,  but  of  much  more  elegant 
and  symmetrical  architecture  than  most  of  its  crun>b]ing 
brethren.  The  trees  which  have  grown  up  in  court-yard 
and  hall  have  here  and  there  overthrown  portions  of  the 
walls,  but  a  number  of  handsome  Gothic  portals  and  win- 
dows remain.  The  round  tower  appears  to  have  belonged 
to  a  much  earlier  structure.  The  present  picturesque 
beauty  of  the  place  compensates  for  the  lack  of  history  and 
tradition.  Its  position  Is  such  that  it  overlooks  nearly  the 
whole  extent  of  the  Golden  Mead  and  the  southern  slope 
of  the  Hartz  —  a  hemisphere  of  gold  and  azure  at  the  time 
of  my  visit.  It  was  a  day  which  had  strayed  into  Septem- 
ber out  of  midsummer.  Intense,  breathless  heat  filled  the 
earth  and  sky,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  wave  of  air,  even 
upon  that  summit. 

The  KyfFhauser  is  two  or  three  miles  further  eastward, 
upon  the  last  headland  of  the  range,  in  that  direction. 
The  road  connecting  the  two  castles  runs  along  the  crest, 
through  forests  of  the  German  oak,  as  is  most  fit.  Taking 
leave  of  the  poet,  and  with  his  volume  in  my  pack,  I  plod« 
ded  forward  in  the  shade,  attended  by  "  spirits  twain,"  in 


THE   KYFFHAUSER  AND  ITS  LEGENDS.  819 

visible  to  my  young  guide.  Poetry  walked  on  lay  right 
hand,  Tradition  on  my  left.  History  respectfully  declined 
to  join  the  party  ;  the  dim,  vapory,  dreamful  atmosphere 
did  not  suit  her.  Besides,  in  regard  to  the  two  points  con- 
cerning which  I  desired  to  be  enlightened  she  could  have 
given  me  little  assistance.  Why  was  the  dead  Barbarossa 
supposed  to  be  enchanted  in  a  vault  under  the  KyfFhauser, 
a  castle  which  he  had  never  made  his  residence  ?  Fifteen 
years  ago,  at  the  foot  of  the  Taurus,  in  Asia  Minor,  I  had 
stood  on  the  banks  of  the  river  in  which  he  was  drowned ; 
and  in  Tyre  I  saw  the  chapel  in  which,  according  to  such 
history  as  we  possess,  his  body  was  laid.  Then,  why  should 
he,  of  all  the  German  emperors,  be  chosen  as  the  symbol 
of  a  political  resurrection  ?  He  defied  the  power  of  the 
popes,  and  was  placed  under  the  ban  of  the  Church ;  he 
gained  some  battles  and  lost  others ;  he  commenced  a 
crusade,  but  never  returned  from  it ;  he  did  something 
towards  the  creation  of  a  middle  class,  but  in  advance  of 
the  time  when  such  a  work  could  have  been  appreciated. 
He  was  evidently  a  man  of  genius  and  energy,  of  a  noble 
personal  presence,  and  probably  possessed  that  individual 
magnetism,  the  effect  of  which  survives  so  long  among  the 
people  ;  yet  all  these  things  did  not  seem  to  constitute  a 
sufficient  explanation. 

The  popularity  of  the  Barbarossa  legend,  however,  is  not 
to  be  ascribed  to  anything  in  the  Emperor's  history.  In 
whatever  way  it  may  have  been  created,  it  soon  became 
the  most  picturesque  expression  of  the  dream  of  German 
unity  —  a  dream  to  which  the  people  held  fast,  while  the 
princes  were  doing  their  best  to  make  its  fulfillment  impos- 
sible. Barbarossa  was  not  the  first,  nor  the  last,  nor  the 
best  of  the  great  Emperors ;  but  the  legend,  ever  willful  in 
its  nature,  fastened  upon  him,  and  Art  and  Literature  are 
forced  to  accept  what  they  find  already  accepted  by  the 
people.  This  seemed  to  me,  then,  to  be  the  natural  ex- 
planation, and  I  am  glad  to  find  it  confirmed  in  the  main 


620  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPK. 

points  by  one  of  the  best  living  writers  of  Germany.  The 
substance  of  the  popular  tradition  is  embodied  in  thia  little 
BOng  of  Riickert :  — 

"  The  Ancient  Barbarossa, 

Friedrich,  the  Kaiser  gxnt. 
Within  the  castle-cavern 
Sits  in  enchanted  state. 

"  He  did  not  die ;  but  ever 

Waits  in  the  chamber  deep, 
Where,  hidden  under  the  castle, 
He  sat  himself,  to  sleep. 

"  The  splendor  of  the  Empire 
He  took  with  him  away, 
And  back  to  earth  will  bring  it 
When  dawns  the  chosen  day. 

"  The  chair  is  ivory  purest 

Whereof  he  makes  his  bed; 
The  table  is  of  marble 

Whereon  he  props  his  head. 

"  His  beard,  not  flax,  but  burning 
With  tierce  and  tier}'  glow. 
Bight  through  the  marble  table 
Beneath  his  chin  doth  grow. 

"  He  nods  in  dreams,  and  winketh 
With  dull,  half-open  eye, 
And,  once  an  age,  he  beckons 
A  page  that  standeth  by. 
• 

"  He  bids  the  boy  in  slumber: 
'  0  dwarf,  go  up  this  hour, 
And  see  if  still  the  ravens 

Are  flying  round  the  tower. 

" '  And  if  the  ancient  ravens 

Still  wheel  above  me  here. 
Then  must  1  sleep  enchanted 
For  many  a  hundred  year.'  ** 

EUf-way  from  the  Bothenburg   afler  passing  f   .4<rioai 


THE   K^FFHAUSEK   AUD  ITS   LEGENDS.  321 

pyramid  of  petrified  wood,  I  caught  sight  of  the  tower  of 
the  KyfFhauser,  a  square  dark-red  mass,  looming  over  the 
oak  woods.  The  path  dwindled  to  a  rude  forest  road,  and 
the  crest  of  the  mountain,  on  the  left,  hid  from  view  the 
glimmering  level  of  the  Golden  Mead.  I  saw  nothing  but 
the  wooded  heights  on  the  right,  until,  after  climbing  a 
space,  I  found  myself  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  angular 
mounds  of  buried  masonry.  The  "  Kaiser  Friedrich's 
tower,"  eighty  feet  high  and  about  thirty  feet  square,  ap- 
peared to  be  all  that  remained  of  the  castle.  But  the  ex- 
tensive mounds  over  which  I  stumbled  were  evidently 
formed  from  the  debris  of  roofs  and  walls,  and  something 
in  their  arrangement  suggested  the  existence  of  vaults 
under  them.  The  summit  of  the  mountain,  four  or  five 
hundred  feet  in  length,  is  entirely  covered  with  the  ruins 
A  cottage  in  the  midst,  occupied  by  three  wild  women,  is 
built  over  an  ancient  gateway,  the  level  of  which  is  con- 
siderably below  the  mounds  ;  and  I  felt  sure,  although  the 
women  denied  it,  that  there  must  be  subterranean  cham- 
bers. They  permitted  me,  in  consideration  of  the  pay- 
ment of  three  cents,  to  look  through  a  glass  in  the  wall, 
and  behold  a  hideous  picture  of  the  sleeping  Emperor. 
Like  Macbeth's  witches,  they  cried  in  chorus :  — 

"  Show !  show ! 
Show  his  eyes  and  grieve  his  heart; 
Take  his  money,  a^  let  him  depart!  " 

That,  and  a  bottle  of  bad  beer,  which  my  small  boy 
drank  with  extraordinary  facility,  was  all  the  service  they 
were  willing  to  render  me.  But  the  storied  peak  was  de- 
serted ;  the  vast  ring  of  landscape  basked  in  the  splendid 
day ;  the  ravens  were  flying  around  the  tower  ;  and  there 
were  seats  at  various  points  where  I  could  rest  at  will  and 
undisturbed.  The  Kyff"haiiser  was  so  lonely  that  its 
gnomes  might  have  allowed  the  wonder-flower  to  grow  for 
me,  and  have  opened  their  vaults  without  the  chance  of  a 

21 


322  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

profane  foot  following.  I  first  sketched  :he  tower,  to  sat 
isfy  Duty ;  and  then  gave  myself  up  to  the  guidance  of 
Fancy,  whose  face,  on  this  occasion  was  not  to  be  distin- 
guished from  that  of  Indolence.  There  was  not  a  great 
deal  to  see,  and  no  discoveries  to  make  ;  but  the  position 
of  the  castle  was  so  lordly,  the  view  of  the  Golden  Mead  so 
broad  and  beautiful,  that  I  could  have  asked  nothing  more. 
I  remembered,  as  I  looked  down,  the  meadows  of  Tarsus, 
and  pictured  to  myself,  in  the  haze  beyond  the  Brocken, 
the  snowy  summits  of  the  Taurus.  "  What  avails  the  truth 
of  history  ?  "  I  reflected  ;  "  I  know  that  Barbarossa  never 
lived  here,  yet  I  cannot  banish  his  shadowy  figure  from  my 
thoughts.  Nay,  I  find  myself  on  the  point  of  believing  the 
legend." 

The  word  "  KyfFhauser  "  means,  simply,  "  houses  on  the 
peak "  {kippe  or  kuppe).  The  people,  however,  have  a 
derivation  of  their  own.  They  say  that,  after  Julius  Caesar 
had  conquered  the  Thiiringian  land,  he  built  a  castle  for 
his  praetor  on  this  mountain,  and  called  it  Confusio,  to 
signify  the  state  to  which  he  had  reduced  the  ancient  mon- 
archy. Long  afterwards,  they  add,  a  stag  was  found  in  the 
forest,  with  a  golden  collar  around  its  neck,  on  which  were 
the  words :  "  Let  no  one  hurt  me  ;  Julius  gave  me  my 
liberty."  The  date  of  the  foundation  of  the  castle  cannot 
be  determined.  It  was  probably  a  residence,  alternately, 
of  the  Thiiringians  and  Frt\jiks,  in  the  early  Christian  cen- 
turies ;  the  German  emperors  afterwards  occasionally  in- 
habited it ;  but  it  was  ruined  in  the  year  1189,  just  before 
the  departure  of  Barbarossa  for  the  Orient.  Afterwards 
rebuilt,  it  appears  to  have  been  finally  overthrown  and  de- 
serted in  the  fourteenth  century.  It  is  a  very  slender  his- 
tory wnich  I  have  to  relate ;  but,  as  I  said  before.  History 
did  not  accompany  me  on  the  pilgrimage. 

The  Saga,  however,  —  whose  word  is  often  as  good  as 
the  written  record,  —  had  a  great  deal  to  say.  She  told 
me,  first,  that  the  images  and  ideas  of  a  religion  live  among 


THE   KYFFHAUSER   AND  ITS  LEGENDS. 

the  people  for  ages  after  the  creed  is  overthrown  ;  that  the 
half  of  a  faith  is  simply  transferred,  not  changed.  Here  ia 
the  thread  by  which  the  legend  of  the  Kyffhauser  may  be 
unraveled.  The  gods  of  the  old  Scandinavian  and  Teutonic 
mythology  retreated  into  the  heart  of  certain  sacred  moun- 
tains during  the  winter,  and  there  remained  until  the 
leaves  began  to  put  forth  in  the  forests,  when  the  people 
celebrated  their  reappearance  by  a  spring  festival,  the 
Druid  Pentecost.  When  Christianity  was  forced  upon  the 
land,  and  the  names  of  the  gods  were  prohibited,  the  prom- 
inent chiefs  and  rulers  took  their  place.  Charlemagne  sat 
with  his  paladins  in  the  Untersberg,  near  Salzburg,  under 
the  fortress  of  Nuremberg,  and  in  various  other  mountains. 
Two  centuries  later,  Otto  the  Great  was,  in  like  manner, 
invested  with  a  subterranean  court;  then,  after  an  equal 
space  of  time,  came  Barbarossa's  turn.  Gustav  Freytag,* 
to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  some  interesting  information  on 
this  point,  read  to  me,  from  a  Latin  chronicle  of  the  year 
1050,  the  following  passage:  "This  year  there  was  great 
excitement  among  the  people,  from  the  report  that  a  ruler 
would  come  forth  and  lead  them  to  war.  Many  believed 
that  it  would  be  Charlemagne  ;  but  many  also  believed 
that  it  would  be  another,  whose  name  cannot  be  men- 
tioned." This  other  was  Wuotan  (Odin),  whose  name  the 
people  whispered  three  centuries  after  they  had  renounced 
his  worship.  , 

This  explanation  fits  every  particular  of  the  legend. 
The  Teutonic  tribes  always  commenced  their  wars  in  the 
spring,  after  the  return  of  the  gods  to  the  surface  of  the 
earth.  The  ravens  flying  around  the  tower  are  the  well- 
known  birds  of  Odin.  When  Barbarossa  comes  forth,  he 
will  first  hang  his  shield  on  the  barren  tree,  which  will 
then  burst  into  leaf.  The  mediaeval  legend  sprang  natu- 
rally from  the  grave  of  the  dead  religion.     Afterwards,  — 

1  The  well-known  author  of  Debit  and  Credit,  and  Picture*  of  the  Germem 
PaaL 


824  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

probabl}  during  the  terrible  depression  which  followed  the 
Thirty  Years'  War,  —  another  transfer  took  place.  The 
gods  were  at  last  forgotten  ;  but  the  aspirations  of  the  peo- 
ple, connecting  Past  and  Future,  found  a  new  meaning  in 
the  story,  which  the  poets,  giving  it  back  to  them  in  a  glo- 
rified form,  fixed  forever. 

We  have  only  two  things  to  assume,  and  they  will  give 
us  little  trouble.  The  Kyff  hauser  must  have  been  one  of 
those  sacred  mountains  of  the  Teutons  in  which  the  gods 
took  up  their  winter  habitation.  Its  character  corresponds 
with  that  of  other  mountains  wliich  were  thus  selected.  It 
is  a  projecting  headland,  partly  isolated  from  the  rest  of 
the  range,  —  like  Tabor,  "  a  mountain  apart."  This  would 
account  for  the  location  of  the  legend.  The  choice  of 
Barbarossa  may  be  explained  partly  by  the  impression 
which  his  personal  presence  and  character  made  upon  the 
people  (an  effect  totally  independent  of  his  place  in  his- 
tory), and  partly  from  the  circumstance,  mysterious  to 
them,  that  he  went  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  never  returned. 
Although  they  called  him  the  "  Heretic  Emperor,"  on  ac- 
count of  his  quarrel  with  the  Pope,  this  does  not  appear  to 
have  diminished  the  power  of  his  name  among  them.  The 
first  form  of  the  legendj-  as  we  find  it  in  a  fragment  of 
poetry  from  the  fourteenth  century,  says  that  he  disapn 
peared,  but  is  not  dead  ;  that  hunters  or  peasants  some- 
times meet  him  as  a  pilgrim,  whereupon  he  discovers  him- 
self to  them,  saying  that  he  will  yet  punish  the  priests,  and 
restore  the  Holy  Roman  Empire.  A  history,  published  it 
the  year  1519,  says :  "  He  was  a  man  of  great  deeds,  mar. 
velously  courageous,  lovable,  severe,  and  with  the  gift  of 
speech,  —  renowned  in  many  things  as  was  no  one  before 
him  save  Carolus  the  Great,  —  and  is  at  last  lost,  so  that 
no  man  knows  what  is  become  of  him." 

I  know  not  where  to  look  for  another  tradition  made  up 
of  such  picturesque  elements.  Although  it  may  be  told  in 
a  few  words,  it  contains  the  quintessence  of  the  history  of 


THE  KYFFHAUSER  AND  ITS  LEGENDS.  32S 

two  thousand  years.  Based  on  the  grand  Northern  my. 
thology,  we  read  in  it  the  foundation  of  Christianity  the 
Crusades,  that  hatred  of  priestcraft  which  made  the  Refor- 
mation possible,  the  crumbling  to  pieces  of  the  old  German 
Empire,  and  finally  that  passionate  longing  of  the  race 
which  is  now  conducting  it  to  a  new  national  unity  and 
power.  For  twenty  years  the  Germans  have  been  collect- 
ing funds  to  raise  a  monument  to  Herrmann,  the  Cheru- 
skian  chief,  the  destroyer  of  Varus  and  his  legions  in  the 
Teutoburger  Forest;  yet  Germany,  after  all,  grew  great 
from  subjection  to  the  laws  and  learning  of  Rome.  The 
Kyff  hauser  better  deserves  a  monument,  not  specially  to 
Barbarossa,  but  to  that  story  which  for  centuries  symbolized 
the  political  faith  of  the  people. 

The  local  traditions  which  have  grown  up  around  the 
national  one  are  very  numerous.  Some  have  been  trans- 
planted hither  from  other  places,  —  as,  for  instance,  that 
of  the  key-flower,  —  but  others,  very  naive  and  original, 
belong  exclusively  here.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  they 
may  also  be  found  in  other  lands ;  the  recent  researches  in 
fairy  lore  teach  us  that  scarcely  anything  of  what  we  pos- 
sess is  new.  Here  is  one  which  suggests  some  passages 
in  Wieland's  "  Oberon." 

In  Tilleda,  a  village  at  the  foot  of  the  Kyff  hauser,  some 
lads  and  lasses  were  met,  one  evening,  for  social  diversion. 
Among  them  was  a  girl  whom  they  were  accustomed  to 
make  the  butt  of  their  fun  —  whom  none  of  them  liked, 
although  she  was  honest  and  industrious.  By  a  secret 
understanding,  a  play  of  pawns  was  proposed;  and  when 
this  girl's  turn  came  to  redeem  hers,  she  was  ordered  to 
go  up  to  the  castle  and  bring  back  three  hairs  from  the 
sleeping  Emperor's  beard.  She  set  out  on  the  instant, 
while  the  others  made  themselves  merry  over  her  sim- 
plicity. To  their  great  surprise,  however,  she  returned  in 
an  hour,  bringing  with  her  three  hairs,  fiery-red  in  color 
iind  of  astonishing  length.     She  related  that,  having  en- 


326  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

tered  the  subterranean  chambers,  she  was  conducted  by  • 
dwarf  to  the  Emperor's  presence,  where,  after  havhig 
drained  a  goblet  of  wine  to  his  health,  and  that  of  the 
Frau  Empress,  she  received  permission  to  pluck  three 
hairs  from  the  imperial  beard,  on  condition  that  she  would 
neither  give  them  away  nor  destroy  them.  She  faithfully 
kept  the  promise.  The  hairs  were  laid  away  among  her 
trinkets  ;  and  a  year  afterwards  she  found  them  changed 
into  rods  of  gold,  an  inch  in  diameter.  Of  course  the 
former  Cinderella  then  became  the  queen. 

There  are  several  stories,  somewhat  similar  in  character, 
of  which  musicians  or  piping  herdsmen  are  the  heroes. 
Now  it  is  a  company  of  singers  or  performers,  who,  passing 
the  Kyff  hauser  late  at  night,  give  the  sleeping  Emperor  a 
serenade ;  now  it  is  a  shepherd,  who  saying  to  himself, 
"  This  is  for  the  Kaiser  Friedrich  "  plays  a  simple  melody 
upon  his  flute.  In  each  case  an  entrance  opens  into  the 
mountain.  Either  a  princess  comes  forth  with  wine,  or  a 
page  conducts  the  musicians  into  the  Emperor's  presence. 
Sometimes  they  each  receive  a  green  bough  in  payment, 
sometimes  a  horse's  head,  a  stick,  or  a  bunch  of  flax.  All 
are  either  dissatisfied  with  their  presents,  or  grow  tired  of 
carrying  them,  and  throw  them  away,  —  except  one  (gener- 
ally the  poorest  and  silliest  of  the  company),  who  takes  his 
home  with  him  as  a  souvenir  of  the  adventure,  or  as  an 
ironical  present  to  his  wife,  and  finds  it,  next  morning, 
changed  into  solid  gold.  How  faithful  are  all  these  legends 
to  the  idea  of  compensation  !  It  is  always  the  poor,  the 
simple,  the  persecuted  to  whom  luck  comes. 

I  have  two  more  stories,  of  a  different  character,  to  re- 
peat. A  poor  laborer  in  Tilleda  had  an  only  daughter, 
who  was  betrothed  to  a  young  man  equally  pooi,  but  good 
and  honest.  It  was  the  evening  before  the  wedding-day ; 
the  guests  were  already  invited,  and  the  father  suddenly 
remembered  with  dismay  that  there  was  only  one  pot,  one 
dish,  and  two  plates  in  the  house.     "  What  shall  we  do  i* " 


tBE  KYFFHXUSEE  and  ITS  LEGENDS.  ^^7 

he  cried.  "  You  must  go  up  to  the  Kyffhauser,  and  ask 
the  Princess  to  lend  us  some  dishes."  Hand  in  hand  the 
lovers  climbed  the  mountain,  and  at  the  door  of  the  cavern 
found  the  Princess,  who  smiled  upon  them  as  they  came. 
They  made  their  request  timidly  and  with  fear ;  but  she 
bade  them  take  heart,  gave  them  to  eat  and  drink,  and 
filled  a  large  basket  with  dishes,  spoons,  and  everything 
necessary  for  a  wedding  feast.  When  they  returned  to  the 
village  with  their  burden,  it  was  day.  All  things  were 
strange ;  they  recognized  neither  house  nor  garden  :  the 
people  were  unknown  to  them,  and  wore  a  costume  they 
had  never  before  seen.  Full  of  distress  and  anxiety,  they 
sought  the  priest,  who,  after  hearing  their  story,  turned 
over  the  church-books,  and  found  that  they  had  been  ab- 
sent just  two  hundred  years. 

The  other  legend  is  that  of  Peter  Klaus,  the  source  frono 
which  Irving  drew  his  Rip  Van  Winkle.  I  had  read  it 
before  (as  have,  no  doubt,  many  of  my  readers),  but  was 
not  acquainted  with  its  local  habitation  until  my  visit  to 
the  Kyffhauser.  It  was  first  printed,  so  far  as  I  can  learn, 
in  a  collection  made  by  Otmar,  and  published  in  Bremen 
in  the  year  1800.  Given  in  the  briefest  outline,  it  is  as 
follows :  Peter  Klaus,  a  shepherd  of  Sittendorf,  pastured 
his  herd  on  the  Kyffhauser,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  collect- 
ing the  animals  at  the  foot  of  an  old  ruined  wall.  He 
noticed  that  one  of  his  goats  regularly  disappeared  for 
some  hours  every  day  ;  and,  finding  that  she  went  into  an 
opening  between  two  of  the  stones,  he  followed  her.  She 
led  him  into  a  vault,  where  she  began  eating  grains  of  oats 
which  fell  from  the  ceiling.  Over  his  head  he  heard  the 
stamping  and  neighing  of  horses.  Presently  a  squire  in 
ancient  armor  appealed,  and  beckoned  to  him  without 
speaking.  He  was  led  up  stairs,  across  a  court-yard,  and 
into  an  open  space  in  the  mountain,  sunken  deep  between 
rocky  walls,  where  a  company  of  knights,  stern  and  silent 
were  playing  at  bowls.     Peter  Klaus  was  directed  by  ge» 


328  BY-WAYS   OF  EIjBOPE. 

tures  i »  set  up  the  pins,  which  he  did  in  mortal  fear,  until 
the  quality  of  a  can  of  wine,  placed  at  his  elbow,  stimulated 
his  courage.  Finally,  after  long  service  and  many  deep 
potations,  he  slept.  When  he  awoke,  he  found  himself 
lying  among  tall  weeds,  at  the  foot  of  the  ruined  wall. 
Herd  and  dog  had  disappeared  ;  his  clothes  were  in  tatters, 
and  a  long  beard  hung  upon  his  breast.  He  wandered 
back  to  the  village,  seeking  his  goats,  and  marveling  that 
he  saw  none  but  strange  faces.  The  people  gathered 
around  him,  and  answered  his  questions,  but  each  name  he 
named  was  that  upon  a  stone  in  the  church-yard.  Finally, 
a  woman  who  seemed  to  be  his  wife  pressed  through  the 
crowd,  leading  a  wild-looking  boy,  and  with  a  baby  in  her 
arms.     "  What  is  your  name .'' "  he  asked. 

"  Maria." 

"  And  your  father  ?  " 

"  He  was  Peter  Klaus,  God  rest  his  soul !  who  went  up 
the  Kyffhauser  with  his  herd,  twenty  years  ago,  and  has 
never  been  seen  since." 

Irving  has  taken  almost  every  feature  of  his  story  from 
this  legend ;  but  his  happy  translation  of  it  to  the  Catskills. 
and  the  grace  and  humor  which  he  has  added  to  it,  have 
made  it  a  new  creation. '  Peter  Klaus  is  simply  a  puppet  of 
the  people's  fancy,  but  Rip  Van  Winkle  has  an  immortal 
vitality  of  his  own.  Few,  however,  who  look  into  the  wild 
little  glen,  on  climbing  to  the  Catskill  Mountain  House, 
suspect  from  what  a  distance  was  wafted  the  thistle-down 
which  there  dropped  and  grew  into  a  new  plant,  with  the 
richest  flavor  and  color  of  the  soil.  Here,  on  the  KyfiFhau- 
ser,  I  find  the  stalk  whence  it  was  blown  by  some  fortunate 
wind. 

No  doubt  some  interesting  discoveries  might  be  made, 
if  the  ruins  were  cleared  and  explored.  At  the  eastern 
end  of  the  crest  are  the  remains  of  another  tower,  from 
which  I  detected  masses  of  masonry  rising  through  the 
oaks,  on  a  lower  platform  of  the   mountain.     The   three 


THE   KYFFHAUSER   AND   ITS   LEGENDS.  329 

wild  women  informed  me  that  there  was  a  chapel  dowt 
there ;  but  my  small  boy  had  never  heard  of  it,  and  didn't 
know  the  way. 

"  Where  do  you  come  from,  boy  ?  "  the  woman  asked. 

"  From  Kelbra." 

"  O  .  ah  !  To  be  sure  you  don't  know !  The  Kelbra 
people  are  blockheads  and  asses,  every  one  of  'em.  They 
think  their  Rothenburg  is  everything,  when  the  good  Lord 
knows  that  the  Kaiser  Red-beard  never  lived  there  a  day 
of  his  life.  From  Kelbra,  indeed  I  It's  the  Tilleda  people 
that  know  how  to  guide  strangers  ;  you've  made  a  nice 
mess  of  it,  Herr,  taking  a  Kelbra  boy ! " 

Perhaps  I  had  ;  but  it  wasn't  pleasant  to  be  told  of  it  in 
that  way.  So  I  took  my  boy,  said  farewell  to  Barbarossa's 
tower,  and  climbed  down  the  steep  of  slippery  grass  and 
stones  to  the  ruins  of  the  lower  castle.  The  scrubby  oakt> 
and  alder  thickets  were  almost  impenetrable  ;  a  single  path 
wound  among  them,  leading  me  through  three  ancient 
gateways,  but  avoiding  several  chambers,  the  walls  of  which 
are  still  partially  standing.  However,  I  finally  reached  the 
chapel  —  a  structure  more  Byzantine  than  Gothic,  about 
fifty  feet  in  length.  It  stands  alone,  at  the  end  of  a  court- 
yard, and  is  less  ruined  than  any  other  part  of  the  castle. 
The  windows  remain,  and  a  great  part  of  the  semicircular 
chancel,  but  I  could  find  no  traces  of  sculpture.  The  floor 
had  been  dug  up  in  search  of  buried  treasure.  Looking 
through  an  aperture  in  the  wall,  I  saw  another  inclosure 
of  ruins  on  a  platform  further  below.  The  castle  of  Kyff- 
hauser,  tlien.  embraced  three  separate  stages  of  buildings, 
all  connected,  and  forming  a  pile  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
in  length.  Befoie  its  fall  it  nmst  have  been  one  of  the 
stateliest  fortresses  in  Germany. 

I  descended  the  mountain  in  the  fierce,  silent  heat  which 
made  it  seem  so  lonely,  so  far  removed  from  the  bright 
world  of  the  Golden  Mead.  There  were  no  flocks  on  th€ 
dry  pasture-slopes,  no  farmers  in  th  ;  stubble-fields  undei 


830  BV-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

them ;  and  the  village  of  Tilleda,  lying  under  my  eye* 
bared  its  deserted  streets  to  the  sun.  There,  nevertheless, 
I  found  rest  and  refreshment  in  a  decent  inn.  My  desti 
nation  was  the  town  of  Artern,  on  the  Unstrut,  at  the  east- 
ern extren)ity  of  the  Golden  Mead;  and  I  had  counted  on 
finding  a  horse  and  hay-cart,  at  least,  to  carry  me  over  the 
intervening  nine  or  ten  miles.  But  no ;  nothing  of  the 
kind  was  to  be  had  in  Tilleda  —  even  a  man  to  shoulder 
my  pack  was  an  unusual  fortune,  for  which  I  must  be  grate- 
ful. "  Wait  till  evening,"  said  the  landlady,  after  describing 
to  me  the  death  of  her  husband,  and  her  business  troubles, 
"  and  then  Hans  Meyer  will  go  with  you." 

The  story  being  that  the  family  of  Goethe  originally  came 
from  Artern,  and  that  some  of  its  members  were  still  living 
in  the  neighborhood,  I  commenced  my  inquiries  at  Tilleda. 

"  Is  there  anybody  of  the  name  of  Goethe  in  the  village  ?" 
I  asked  the  landlady. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  there 's  the  blactsmith  Goethe,  but  I 
believe  he  's  the  only  one." 

The  poet's  great-grandfather  having  been  a  blacksmith, 
and  the  practice  of  a  certain  trade  or  profession  being  so 
frequently  hereditary  among  the  Germans,  T  did  not  doubt 
but  that  this  was  a  genuine  branch  of  the  family.  All  that 
the  landlady  could  say  of  the  man,  in  reply  to  my  questions, 
was,  "  He  's  only  a  blacksmith." 

The  sun  had  nearly  touched  the  tower  on  the  KyiFhauser 
when  Hans  Meyer  and  I  set  out  for  Artern  ;  but  the  fields 
still  glowed  with  heat,  and  the  far  blue  hills,  which  I  must 
reach,  seemed  to  grow  no  nearer,  as  I  plodded  painfully 
along  the  field-roads.  The  man  was  talkative  enough,  and 
his  singular  dialect  was  not  difficult  to  understand.  He 
knew  no  tradition  which  had  not  already  been  gathered, 
but,  like  a  genuine  farmer,  entertained  me  with  stories  of 
hail-storms,  early  and  late  frosts,  and  inundations.  He  was 
inveterately  wedded  to  old  fashions,  and  things  of  the  past, 
had  served  against  the  Republicans  in  1849,  and  not  a  glim 


THE   OFFHAUSER   AND   ITS   LEGENDS.  331 

mering  idea  of  the  present  national  movement  had  ever 
entered  his  mind.  I  had  heard  that  this  region  was  the 
home  of  conservative  hmd-owners,  and  ignorant  peasants 
who  believe  in  them,  but  I  am  not  willing  to  take  Hans 
Meyer  as  a  fair  specimen  of  the  people. 

It  is  wearisome  to  tell  of  a  weary  journey,  The  richest 
fields  may  be  monotonous,  and  the  sweetest  pastoral  scenery 
become  tame,  without  change.  I  looked  over  the  floor  of 
the  Golden  Mead,  with  ardent  longing  towards  the  spire  of 
Artern  in  the  east,  and  with  a  faint  interest  towards  the 
castle  of  Sachsenberg,  in  the  south,  perched  above  a  gorge 
through  which  the  Unstrut  breaks  its  way.  The  sun  went 
down  in  a  splendor  of  color,  the  moon  came  up  like  a 
bronze  shield,  grain-wagons  rolled  homewards,  men  and 
women  flocked  into  the  villages,  with  rakes  and  forks  on 
their  shoulders,  and  a  cool  dusk  slowly  settled  over  the 
great  plain.  Hans  Meyer  was  silent  at  last,  and  I  was  in 
that  condition  of  tense  endurance  when  an  unnecessary  re- 
mark is  almost  as  bad  as  an  insult ;  and  so  we  went  over 
the  remaining  miles,  entering  the  gates  of  Artern  by  moon- 
light 

The  first  thing  I  did  in  the  morning,  was  to  recommence 
my  inquiries  in  regard  to  Goethe.  "  Yes,"  said  the  land- 
lord, "  his  stammhaus  (ancestral  house)  is  here,  but  the 
family  don't  live  in  it  any  longer.  If  you  want  to  see  it, 
one  of  the  boys  shall  go  with  you.  There  was  formerly  a 
smithy  in  it ;  but  the  smiths  of  the  family  left,  and  then  it 
was  changed." 

I  followed  the  boy  through  the  long,  roughly-paved  main 
street,  until  we  had  nearly  reached  the  western  end  of  the 
town,  when  he  stopped  before  an  old  yellow  house,  two 
stories  high,  with  a  steep  tiled  roof.  Its  age,  I  should 
guess,  was  between  two  and  three  hundred  years.  The 
street-front,  above  the  ground  floor,  —  which,  having  an 
arched  entrance  and  only  one  small  window,  must  have 
been  thefoimer  smithy,  —  showed  its  framework  Df  timber 


882  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

as  one  sees  in  all  old  German  houses.  Before  tbe  closelj 
ranged  windows  of  the  second  story  there  were  shelves  with 
pots  of  gilliflowers  and  carnations  in  blossom.  It  was  a 
genuine  mechanic's  house,  with  no  peculiar  feature  to  dis- 
tinguish it  particularly  from  the  others  in  the  street.  A 
thin-faced  man,  with  sharp  black  mustache,  looked  out  of 
one  of  the  windows,  and  spoke  to  the  boy,  who  asked 
whether  I  wished  to  enter.  But  as  there  was  really  nothing 
to  be  seen,  I  declined. 

According  to  the  chronicles  of  Artern,  the  great-grand- 
father Goethe,  the  blacksmith,  had  a  son  who  was  appren- 
ticed to  a  tailor,  and  who,  during  his  wanderschaft,  sojourned 
awhile  in  Frankfort-on-the-Main.  He  there  captivated  the 
fancy  of  a  rich  widow,  the  proprietress  of  the  Willow-Bush 
Hotel  (the  present  "  Hotel  Union"),  and  married  her,  —  or 
she  married  him,  —  a  fact  which  presupposes  good  looks, 
or  talents,  or  both,  on  his  part.  His  son,  properly  edu- 
cated, became  in  time  the  Councillor  Goethe,  who  begat 
the  poet  The  latter,  it  is  said,  denied  that  the  tailor  was 
his  grandfather,  whence  it  is  probable  that  an  additional 
generation  must  be  interpolated ;  but  the  original  black- 
smith has  been  accepted,  I  believe,  by  the  most  of  Goethe's 
biographers.  A  generation,  more  or  less,  makes  no  differ- 
ence. Goethe's  ancestry,  like  that  of  Shakespeare,  lay  in 
the  ranks  of  the  people,  and  their  strong  blood  ran  in  the 
veins  of  both. 

No  author  ever  studied  himself  with  such  a  serene,  oh- 
jective  coolness  as  Goethe ;  but  when  he  speaks  to  the 
world,  one  always  feels  that  there  is  a  slight  flavor  of  dich' 
lung  infused  into  his  wahrheit.  Or  perhaps,  with  the  arro- 
gance natural  to  every  great  intellect,  he  reasoned  outward, 
and  assumed  material  from  spiritual  facts.  Fiction  being 
only  Truth  seen  through  a  different  medium,  the  poet  who 
can  withdraw  far  enough  from  his  own  nature  to  contem- 
plate it  as  an  artistic  study,  works  under  a  different  law 
from  that  of  the  autobiographer.     So  when  Goethe  illu* 


THE  KYFFHAUSER  AND  ITS  LEGENDS.      338 

bates  himself,  we  must  not  always  look  closely  for  facts. 
The  only  instance,  which  I  can  recall  at  this  moment, 
wherein  he  speaks  of  his  ancestors,  is  the  poetical  frag 
ment :  — 

"  Stature  from  father,  and  the  mood 

Stern  views  of  life  compelling; 
From  mother  I  take  the  joyous  heart, 

And  the  love  of  story-telling; 
Great-grandsire's  passion  was  the  fair  — 

What  if  I  still  reveal  it? 
Great-grandam's  was  pomp,  and  gold,  and  show, 

And  in  my  bones  I  feel  it." 

It  is  quite  as  possible,  here,  that  Groethe  deduced  the 
character  of  his  ancestors  from  his  own,  as  that  he  sought 
an  explanation  of  the  latter  in  their  peculiarities.  The 
great-gran dsire  may  have  been  Textor,  of  his  mother's 
line ;  it  is  not  likely  that  he  knew  much  of  his  father's 
family-tree.  The  burghers  of  Frankfurt  were  as  proud,  in 
their  day,  as  the  nobility  of  other  lands ;  and  Goethe,  at 
least  in  his  tastes  and  habits,  was  a  natural  aristocrat.  It 
is  not  known  that  he  ever  visited  Artern. 

Concerning  the  other  members  of  the  original  family,  the 
landlord  said  :  "  Not  one  of  them  lives  here  now.  The  last 
Goethe  in  the  neighborhood  was  a  farmer,  who  had  a  lease 
of  the  scharfrichterei  "  (an  isolated  property,  set  apart  for 
the  use  of  the  government  executioner),  "  but  he  left  here 
some  six  or  eight  years  ago,  and  emigrated  to  America." 
"  Was  he  the  executioner  ?  "  I  asked.  "  O,  by  no  means  !  " 
the  landlord  answered  ;  "  he  only  leased  the  farm  ;  but  it 
was  not  a  comfortable  place  to  live  upon,  and,  besides,  he 
didn't  succeed  very  well."  So  the  blacksmith  in  Tilleda 
and  the  American  Goethe  are  the  only  representatives  left. 
What  if  a  great  poet  for  our  hemisphere  should,  in  time, 
spring  from   the   loins  of  the  latter  ? 

I  ordered  a  horse  and  carriage  with  no  compunctions  of 
conscience,  for  I  was  really  unable  to  make  a  second  day's 
journey  on  foot.     The  golden  weather  had  lasted  just  long 


884  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE 

enough  to  complete  my  legendary  pilgrimage.  The  mora 
ing  at  Artern  came  on  with  cloud  and  distant  gray  sweeps 
of  rain,  which  soon  blotted  out  the  dim  headland  of  the 
Kyffhauser.  1  followed  the  course  of  the  Unstrut,  which 
here  reaches  the  northern  limit  of  his  wanderings,  and 
winds  southward  to  seek  the  Saale.  The  valley  of  the  river 
is  as  beautiful  as  it  is  secluded,  and  every  hour  brings  a 
fresh  historical  field  to  the  traveller.  No  highway  enters 
it;  only  rude  country  roads  lead  from  village  to  village,  and' 
rude  inns  supply  plain  cheer.  Tourists  are  here  an  unknown 
variety  of  the  human  race. 

I  passed  the  ruins  of  Castle  Wendelstein,  battered  during 
the  Thirty  Years'  War,  —  a  manufactory  of  beet-sugar  now 
peacefully  smokes  in  the  midst  of  its  gray  vaults  and  but- 
tresses, —  and  then  Memleben,  where  Henry  the  Bird- 
Snarer  lived  when  he  was  elected  Emperor,  and  Otto  II. 
founded  a  grand  monastery.  Other  ruins  and  ancient 
battle-fields  followed,  and  finally  Nebra,  where,  in  531,  the 
Thuringians  fought  with  the  Franks  three  days,  and  lost 
their  kingdom.  On  entering  Nebra,  I  passed  an  inn  with 
the  curious  sign  of  "Care"  (Sorge),  —  represented  by  a 
man  with  a  most  dismal  face,  and  his  head  resting  hope- 
lessly upon  his  hand.  An  inn  of  evilest  omen ;  and,  as 
suredly,  I  did  not  stop  the're. 

Further  down  the  valley,  green  vineyards  took  the  place 
of  the  oak  forests,  and  the  landscapes  resembled  those  of 
the  Main  and  the  Neckar.  There  were  still  towns,  and 
ruined  castles,  and  battle-fields,  but  I  will  not  ask  the 
reader  to  explore  the  labyrinthine  paths  of  German  history. 
The  atmosphere  of  the  legend  had  faded,  and  I  looked  with 
an  indifferent  eye  on  the  storied  scenes  which  the  windings 
of  the  river  unfolded.  At  sunset,  I  saw  it  pour  its  waters 
into  those  of  the  Saale,  not  far  from  the  railway  station  of 
Naumburg,  where  I  came  back  to  the  highways  of  travel 


A  WEEK  ON  CAPRI. 


Lo  OKING  seaward  from  Naples,  the  island  oi  Capri  lies 
across  the  throat  of  the  bay  like  a  vast  natural  breakwater, 
grand  in  all  its  proportions,  and  marvelously  picturesque  in 
outline.  The  fancy  is  at  once  excited,  and  seeks  to  find 
some  definite  figure  therein.  Long  ago,  an  English  traveller 
compared  it  to  a  couchant  lion  ;  Jean  Paul,  on  the  strength 
of  some  picture  he  had  seen,  pronounced  it  to  be  a  sphinx  ; 
while  Gregorovius,  most  imaginative  of  all,  finds  that  it  is 
"  an  antique  sarcophagus,  with  bas-reliefs  of  snaky-haired 
Euraenides,  and  the  figure  of  Tiberius  lying  ipon  it." 

Capri  is  not  strictly  a  by-way  of  travel,  inasmuch  as  most 
of  the  tourists  who  come  to  Naples  take  the  little  bay- 
steamer,  visit  the  Blue  Grotto,  touch  an  hour  at  the  marina^ 
or  landing-place,  and  return  the  same  evening  via  Sorrento. 
But  this  is  like  reading  a  title-page,  instead  of  the  volume 
behind  it.  The  few  who  climb  the  rock,  and  set  themselves 
quietly  down  to  study  the  life  and  scenery  of  the  island,  find 
an  entire  poem,  to  which  no  element  of  beauty  or  interest 
is  wanting,  opened  for  their  perusal.  Like  Venice,  Capri  is 
a  permanent  island  in  the  traveller's  experience  —  detached 
from  the  mainland  of  Italian  character  and  associations.  It 
is  not  a  grand  dramatic  epic,  to  which  light  waves  keep  time, 
tinkling  on  the  marble  steps  ;  but  a  bright,  breezy  pastoral 
of  the  sea,  with  a  hollow,  rumbling  undertone  of  the  Past, 
like  that  of  the  billows  in  its  caverns.  Venice  has  her 
generations,  her  ages  of  heroic  forms :  here  one  sole  figure, 
supiemely  fierce  and  abominable,  usurps  the  historic  back- 
ground. Not  only  that :  its  shadow  is  projected  over  the 
life  of  the  island,  now  and  for  all  time  to  come.  Herej 
where  Nature  has  placed  terror  and  beauty  side  ly  sidct 

22 


338  Bf-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

the  tragedy  of  one  man  is  inextricably  blended  with  die 
idyllic  annals  of  a  simple,  innocent  people.  To  feel  this, 
one  must  live  a  little  while  on  Capri. 

It  was  nearly  the  end  of  January,  when  Antonio,  our  boat 
man,  announced  that  we  had  the  "one  day. out  of  a  dozen,'* 
for  crossing  the  ten  miles  of  sea  between  Sorrento  and  the 
island,  I  had  my  doubts,  placing  my  own  weather-instinct 
against  the  boatman's  need  of  making  a  good  fare  in  a  dull 
season  ;  but  we  embarked,  nevertheless.  The  ripple  of  a 
sirocco  could  even  then  be  seen  far  out  on  the  bay,  and  a 
cloudy  wall  of  rain  seemed  to  be  rising  from  the  sea.  "  Non 
c'e paura"  said  the  sailors  ;  "  we  have  a  god-mother  at  the 
marina  of  Capri,  and  we  are  going  to  burn  a  lamp  for  her 
to-night.  She  will  give  us  good  weather."  They  pulled 
gayly,  and  we  soon  passed  the  headland  of  Sorrento,  beyond 
which  the  mouth  of  the  Bay  of  Naples  opened  broadly  to 
view.  Across  the  water,  Ischia  was  already  dim  with  rain  ; 
and  right  in  front  towered  Capri,  huge,  threatening,  and  to 
the  eye  inaqcessible  but  for  the  faint  glimmer  of  houses  at 
the  landing-place. 

Here  we  met  the  heavy  swell  rolling  in  from  the  sea. 
The  men  bent  to  their  oars,  with  cries  of  "  Hal-It !  mac- 
cheroni  a  Capri  !  "  The  ,spray  of  the  coming  rain  struck 
us,  but  it  was  light  and  warm.  Antonio  set  the  sail,  and  we 
steered  directly  across  the  strait,  the  sky  becoming  darker 
and  wilder  every  minute.  The  bold  Cape  of  Minerva,  with 
its  Odyssean  memories,  and  the  Leap  of  Tiberius,  on  Capri, 
were  the  dim  landmarks  by  which  we  set  our  course.  It 
was  nearly  two  hours  before  we  came  to  windward  of  the 
latter,  and  I  said  to  Antonio  :  "  It  is  one  day  out  of  a  dozen 
for  cold  and  wet."  He  was  silent,  and  made  an  attempt  to 
look  melancholy.  However,  the  rocks  already  overhung  us ; 
in  front  was  a  great  curving  sweep  of  gardens,  mounting 
higher  and  ever  higher  in  the  twilight ;  and  the  only  boat 
we  had  seen  on  the  deserted  bay  drew  in  towards  us,  and 
made  for  the  roadstead. 


A  WEEK   ON  CAPRI.  389 

The  row  of  fishermen's  houses  on  the  beach  beckoned 
welcome  after  the  dreary  voyage.  At  first  I  saw  no  human 
being,  but  presently  some  women  and  children  appeared, 
hurrying  to  the  strand.  A  few  more  lifts  on  the  dying 
swell,  and  our  keel  struck  the  shore.  The  sailors  jumped 
into  the  water;  one  of  the  women  planted  a  tall  bench 
against  the  bow,  and  over  this  bridge  we  were  landed. 
There  was  already  a  crowd  surrounding  us  with  clamor? 
for  gifts  and  service.  The  woman  with  the  bench  was  the 
noisiest :  "  It  is  mine ! "  she  continually  cried,  —  "/brought 
it ! "  I  gave  her  h  copper  coin,  expecting,  aft;er  my  Nea- 
politan experiences  to  hear  wilder  cries  for  more  ;  but  she 
only  uttered,  "  Eh  ?  due  hajocehi  !  "  in  an  indescribable  tone, 
shouldered  her  bench,  and  walked  away.  Antonio  picked 
out  two  maidens,  piled  our  baggage  upon  their  heads,  and 
we  set  off  for  the  town  of  Capri.  The  clamorous  crowd 
dissolved  at  once  ;  there  was  neither  insult  noT  pursuit  It 
was  a  good-humored  demonstration  of  welcome  —  nothing 
more. 

It  was  but  a  single  step  from  the  strand  —  the  only  little 
fragment  of  beach  on  ten  miles  of  inaccessible  shore  —  to 
the  steep  and  stony  pathway  leading  up  the  height  It  still 
rained,  and  the  night  was  rapidly  falling.  High  garden 
walls  further  darkened  the  way,  which  was  barely  wide 
enough  to  allow  two  persons  to  pass,  and  the  bed  of  which, 
collecting  the  rain  from  the  steeps  on  either  side,  was  like 
that  of  a  mountain  torrent  Before  us  marched  the  bare- 
legged porteresses,  with  astonishing  lightness  and  swiftness, 
while  we  plodded  after,  through  the  rattling  waters,  often 
slipping  on  the  wet  stones,  and  compelled  to  pause  at  every 
corner  to  regain  our  breath.  The  bright  houses  on  the 
ndge  overhead  shone  as  if  by  their  own  light,  crowning  the 
dusky  gardens,  and  beckoning  us  upwards. 

After  nearly  half  an  hour  of  such  climbing,  we  emerged 
from  between  the  walls.  A  vast,  hollow  view  opened  dimly 
down  to  the  sea  for  a  moment ;  then  we  passed  under  an  arch, 


840  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

and  found  ourselves  in  the  little  square  of  the  town,  which 
is  planted  on  the  crest  of  the  island,  at  its  lowest  point 
There  are  not  forty  feet  of  level  ground ;  the  pavement 
falls  to  both  shores.  A  few  paces  down  the  southern  slope 
brought  us  to  a  large  white  mansion,  beside  which  the 
crown  of  a  magnificent  palm-tree  rustled  in  the  wind. 
This  was  the  hostelry  of  Don  Michele  Pagano,  known  to 
all  artists  who  have  visited  Capri  for  the  last  twenty  years. 
A  stately  entrance,  an  ample  staircase,  and  lofty,  vaulted 
chambers,  gave  the  house  a  palatial  air,  as  we  came  into  it 
out  of  the  stormy  night.  The  two  maidens,  who  had  car- 
ried forty  pounds  apiece  on  their  heads,  were  not  in  the 
least  flushed  by  their  labor.  The  fee  I  gave  seemed  to  me 
very  small,  but  they  were  so  well  pleased  that  Antonio's 
voice,  demanding,  "  Why  don't  you  thank  the  Signore  ?  " 
made  them  start  out  of  a  dream,  —  perhaps  of  pork  and 
macaroni.  At  once,  like  children  saying  their  lessons,  they 
dipped  a  deep  courtesy,  side  by  side,  saying,  "  Grazie,  Sig- 
nore !  "  I  then  first  saw  how  pretty  they  were,  how  bright 
their  eyes,  how  dazzling  their  teeth,  and  how  their  smiles 
flashed  as  they  said  "  Good-night ! "  Meanwhile,  Don 
Michele's  daughter  had  kindled  a  fire  on  the  hearth,  there 
was  a  promise  of  immediate  dinner,  and  we  began  to  like 
Capri  from  that  moment. 

My  first  walk  satisfied  me  that  no  one  can  make  ac- 
quaintance with  the  island,  from  a  boat.  Its  sea-walls  of 
rock  are  so  enormous,  that  tbey  hide  almost  its  entire  habit- 
able portion  from  view.  In  order  to  make  any  description 
of  its  scenery  clear  to  the  reader,  the  prominent  topograph- 
ical features  must  be  first  sketched.  Capri  lies  due  south 
of  Naples,  its  longer  diameter  running  east  and  west,  so 
that  it  presents  its  full  broadside  to  the  capital.  Its  oat- 
line,  on  the  ground  plan,  is  that  of  a  short,  broad-topped 
boot,  the  toe  pointing  towards  the  Sorrentine  headland. 
The  breadth,  across  the  top,  or  western  end,  is  two  miles. 
and  the  length  of  the  island  is  about  four  miles.     The  town 


A  WEEK  ON   CAPRI.  Mi 

of  Capri  lies  just  at  the  top  of  the  instep,  where  the  aukle 
is  narrowest,  occupying  also  the  crest  between  the  northern 
and  southern  shores.  Immediately  to  the  west  of  it  rises  a 
tremendous  mountain-wall,  only  to  be  scaled  at  one  point. 
All  the  island  beyond  this  wall  is  elevated  considerably 
above  the  eastern  half,  the  division  being  also  municipal 
and  social.  The  eastern  part,  however,  possesses  the  only 
landing-places  on  both  shores,  whence  it  is  the  most  ani- 
mated and  populous,  claiming  at  least  two  thirds  of  the 
entire  number  of  five  thousand  souls  on  the  island.  The 
most  elevated  points  are  the  Salto  (leap)  di  Tiberio,  the 
extreme  eastern  cape,  which  rises  nearly  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea  ;  and  Monte  Solaro,  a  part  of  the  dividing 
wall  which  I  have  just  mentioned,  about  double  the  height 
of  the  Salto.  In  addition  to  the  landing-place  on  the 
northern  shore,  there  is  a  little  cove  just  opposite,  below 
the  town,  where  boats  can  land  in  still  weather.  Else- 
where, the  rocks  descend  to  the  water  in  a  sheer  wall,  from 
one  to  eight  hundred  feet  in  height.  Although  so  near 
Naples,  the  winds  from  the  mountains  of  the  Peninsula  are 
somewhat  softened  in  crossing  the  bay,  and  the  winter 
temperature  is  about  ten  degrees  higher  in  consequence. 

When  we  crossed  the  little  square  of  the  town  to  the 
entrance-gate,  on  the  morning  after  our  arrival,  there  was  a 
furious  tramontana  blowing.  The  whole  circuit  of  the  Bay 
of  Naples  was  visible,  drawn  in  hard,  sharp  outlines,  and 
the  blue  basin  of  water  was  freckled  with  thousands  of 
shifting  white-caps.  The  resemblance  of  the  bay  to  a  vast 
volcanic  crater  struck  my  fancy :  the  shores  and  islands 
seem  to  be  the  ruins  of  its  rim.  Such  a  wind,  in  Naples, 
would  have  been  intolerable :  here  it  was  only  strong  at 
exposed  points,  and  its  keen  edge  was  gone.  "We  turned 
eastward,  along  the  narrow,  dirty  street,  to  get  into  the 
country.  In  a  hundred  yards  the  town  ceased,  and  the 
heavy  walls  gave  place  to  enormous  hedges  of  cactus.  A 
boy,  walking  the  same  way,  asked :   "  Are  you  going  to 


842  BY-WAYS  OP  fitmol»t;. 

Timberio  "  (Tiberius)  ?  The  ruins  of  the  Villa  Jovis,  die 
principal  palace  of  the  Emperor,  were  already  to  be  seen, 
on  the  summit  of  the  eastern  headland  of  the  island. 
Along  a  roughly  paved  lane,  under  the  shade  of  carob  and 
olive  trees,  we  finally  came  to  a  large  country-house  in  a 
most  picturesque  state  of  ruin.  A  crumbling  archway, 
overhung  by  a  fringe  of  aloes,  which  had  thrust  their  roots 
between  the  stones,  attracted  my  attention,  and  I  began  to 
sketch  it.  Not  many  minutes  elapsed  before  five  or  six 
boys  came  out,  and  watched  me  from  the  arch.  They 
would  have  been  good  accessories,  but,  whenever  I  looked 
at  one,  he  got  out  of  the  way.  Presently  they  brought  an 
aloe,  and  set  it  upon  the  rocks  ;  but,  seeing  that  I  paid  no 
attention  to  it,  one  of  them  remarked  with  a  grimace,  "  No 
butiglia,"  —  meaning  that  he  expected  no  gratuity  from  me. 
They  were  lively,  good-natured  imps,  and  so  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  disappoint  them  agreeably. 

"We  went  also  down  the  southern  slope  of  the  island,  and 
came  at  random  into  the  Val  Tragara,  —  a  peaceful  sol- 
itude, where  twenty-five  centuries  of  labor  have  turned  the 
hostile  rocks  into  tiers  of  ever-yielding  gardens.  One  range 
of  these  is  supported  upon  arches  of  masonry  that  formerly 
upheld  the  highway  which  Tiberius  constructed  between 
his  palaces.  I  afterwards  found  other  traces  of  the  road, 
leading  in  easy  zigzags  to  the  site  of  the  fourth  palace  on 
San  Michele.  Descending  deeper  in  the  Val  Tragara  we 
missed  the  main  path,  and  stumbled  down  the  channels  of 
the  rain  between  clumps  of  myrtle  and  banks  whereon  the 
red  anemone  had  just  begun  to  open  its  blossoms.  The 
olive-trees,  sheltered  from  the  wind,  were  silent,  and  their 
gray  shadows  covered  the  suggestive  mystery  of  the  spot. 
For  here  Tiberius  is  supposed  to  have  hidden  those  rites  of 
the  insane  Venus  to  which  Suetonius  and  Tacitus  so  darkly 
allude. 

"  Non  ragioniam  di  lor,  ma  guarda  e  passs." 
A  single  almond-tree,  in  flower,  made  its  own  suzishine 


A   WEEK   ON   CAPRI. 

in  the  silvery  gloom  ;  and  the  secluded  beauties  of  the 
place  tempted  us  on,  until  the  path  dropped  into  a  ravine, 
which  fell  towards  the  sea.  Following  the  line  of  the  an- 
cient arches  there  is  another  path  —  the  only  level  walk  on 
the  island  —  leading  to  a  terrace  above  the  three  pointed 
rocks  off  the  southern  coast,  called  the  Faraglioni.  In  the 
afternoon,  when  all  the  gardens  and  vineyards  from  the 
edge  of  the  white  cliffs  to  the  town  along  the  ridge  lie  in 
light,  and  the  huge  red  and  gray  walls  beyond,  literally 
piled  against  the  sky,  are  in  hazy  shadow,  the  views  from 
this  path  are  poems  written  in  landscape  forms.  One  does 
not  need  to  remember  that  here  once  was  Rome  ;  that 
beyond  the  sea  lie  Sicily  and  Carthage  ;  that  Augustus  con- 
secrated the  barren  rock  below  to  one  of  his  favorites,  and 
jested  with  Thrasyllus  at  one  of  his  last  feasts.  The  de- 
light of  the  eye  fills  you  too  completely  ;  and  Capri,  as  you 
gaze,  is  released  from  its  associations,  classic  and  diabolic. 
If  Nature  was  here  profaned  by  man,  she  has  long  ago 
washed  away  the  profanation.  Her  pure  air  and  healthy 
breezes  tolerate  no  moral  diseases.  Such  were  brought 
hither ;  but  they  took  no  root,  and  have  left  no  trace,  ex- 
cept in  the  half-fabulous  "Timberio"  of  the  people. 

It  is  time  to  visit  the  Villa  Jovis,  the  Emperor's  chief 
residence.  The  tramontana  still  blew  when  we  set  out; 
but,  as  I  said,  it  had  lost  its  sharp  edge  in  coming  over  the 
bay,  and  was  deliciously  bracing.  As  the  gulf  opened 
below  us,  after  passing  Monte  San  Michele,  we  paused  to 
look  at  the  dazzling  panorama.  Naples  was  fair  in  sight ; 
and  the  smoke  of  Vesuvius,  following  the  new  lava,  seemed 
nearly  to  have  reached  Torre  del  Greco.  While  we  were 
studying  the  volcano  through  a  glass,  a  tall  man  in  Scotch 
cap  and  flannel  shirt  came  up,  stopped,  and  addressed  us 
in  Italian. 

"You  see  that  white  house  yonder  on  the  cliff?"  said 
he  ;  "a  Signore  Inglese  lives  there.  It's  a  nice  place,  a 
beautiful  situation.     There's  the  place  for  the  cows    and 


1J44  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

there  are  the  columbaria,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  It's  what 
they  call  a  quinta  in  Portugal." 

"  Is  the  P^nglishman  married  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  believe  there's  a  jertaic 
woman  in  the  house." 

I  handed  him  the  glass,  which  he  held  to  his  eyes  for 
five  minutes,  without  saying  a  word.  Suddenly  he  broke 
out  in  English  :  "  Yes,  as  you  say,  the  powdery  appearance 
—  the  —  ah,  the  sudden  change  !  Boreal  weather,  you 
know  ;  but  the  indications  seem  to  me,  having  watched  and 
kept  the  thing  in  view,  quite  —  ah  —  quite  of  your  opin- 
ion : " 

I  was  speechless,  as  may  easily  be  imagined  ;  and,  before 
I  could  guess  what  to  reply,  he  handed  me  the  glass,  took 
off  his  cap,  said  :  "  Here's  hoping  —  ah,  wishing  that  we 
may  meet  again — perhaps!"  and  went  off  with  tremen- 
dous strides. 

"  Who  is  that,  Augusto  ?  "  I  asked  of  the  small  Caprese 
boy  who  carried  our  books  and  umbrellas. 

"  Un  Signo^  Inglese" 

"  Is  anything  the  matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  E  un  poi'  pazzo  "  (a  little  cracked). 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  "' 

"  Yonder !  "  said  Augusto,  pointing  to  the  very  house, 
and  place  for  the  cows,  and  the  columbaria,  to  which  the 
gentleman  himself  had  called  my  attention.  It  was  his 
own  house  !  The  "  certain  woman,"  I  afterwards  learned, 
was  his  legal  wife,  a  girl  of  Capri.  As  for  himself,  he 
bears  a  name  noted  in  literature,  and  is  the  near  relative 
of  three  authors. 

Two  pleasant  girls  kept  us  company  a  little  further,  and 
then  we  went  on  alone,  by  a  steep,  slippery  path,  paved 
with  stone,  between  the  poor  little  fields  of  fig  and  olive. 
The  patches  of  wheat  were  scarcely  bigger  than  cottage 
flower-beds,  and  in  many  places  a  laborious  terrace  sup- 
ported only  ground  enough  to  produce  a  half-peck  of  grain. 


A   WEEK   ON   CAPRI.  846 

Lupines  and  horse-beans  are  the  coninionest  crop  at  this 
season.  Along  our  path  bloomed  "  the  daisy-star  that 
never  sets,"  with  anemone  and  golden  broom.  The  Villa 
Jovis  was  full  in  view,  and  not  distant ;  but  the  way  first 
led  us  to  the  edge  of  the  cliffs  on  the  southeastern  side  of 
tKe  island.  From  a  rough  pulpit  of  masonry  we  looked 
down  on  the  wrinkled  sea  near  a  thousand  feet  below. 
The  white-caps  were  but  the  tiniest  sprinkles  of  silver  on 
its  deep-blue  ground. 

As  we  mounted  towards  the  eastern  headland,  the  tremen- 
dous walls  of  the  western  half  of  Capri  rose  bold  and  bright 
against  the  sky ;  but  the  arcs  of  the  sea  horizon,  on  either 
side,  were  so  widely  extended  that  they  nearly  clasped  be- 
hind Monte  Solaro.  It  was  a  wonderful,  an  indescribable 
vipw  ;  how  can  I  give  it  in  words  ?  Here  I  met  an  old  man, 
in  a  long  surtout,  who  stopped  and  conversed  a  minute  in 
French.  He  was  a  soldier  of  Napoleon,  now  the  keeper  of 
a  little  restaurant  at  the  Salto  di  Tiberio,  and  had  just  been 
made  happy  by  the  cross  and  a  pension.  The  restaurant 
was  opened  by  a  peasant,  and  we  passed  through  it  to  the 
Salto.  A  protecting  rampart  of  masonry  enables  you  to 
walk  to  the  very  brink.  The  rock  falls  a  thousand  feet, 
and  so  precipitously  that  the  victims  flung  hence  must 
have  dropped  into  the  waves.  We  looked  directly  across  the 
strait  to  the  Cape  of  Minerva,  and  towards  Salerno  as  well 
as  Naples.  The  snow-crowned  Monte  Sant'  Angelo,  rising 
in  the  centre,  gave  the  peninsula  a  broad  pyramidal  form 
buttressed  by  the  headlands  on  either  side.  The  Isles  of 
the  Sirens  were  full  in  view ;  and.  beyond  them,  the  whole 
curve  of  the  Salernic  gulf,  to  the  far  Calabrian  cape  of 
Licosa  The  distance  was  bathed  in  a  flood  of  airy  gold, 
and  the  gradations  in  the  color  of  the  sea,  from  pale  ame- 
thyst to  the  darkest  sapphire  below  us,  gave  astonishing 
breadth  and  depth  to  the  immense  perspective.  But  the 
mnd,  tearing  round  tlie  point  in  furious  gusts,  seemed  try- 
ing to  snatch  us  over  the  rampart,  and  the  hoiror  of  th« 
height  became  insi'pportable. 


846  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

Much  of  the  plan  of  the  Villa  Jovis  may  still  be  traced 
As  we  approached  the  ruins,  which  commence  a  few  pacea 
beyond  the  Salto,  a  woman  made  her  appearance,  and 
assumed  the  office  of  guide.  "  Here  lived  Timberio,"  said 
she  ;  "  he  was  a  great  man,  a  beautiful  man,  but  0,  he  was 
a  devil !  Down  there  are  seven  chambers,  which  you  can 
only  see  by  a  torch-light ;  and  here  are  the  piscine,  one  for 
salt  water  and  one  for  fresh  ;  and  now  I'll  show  you  the 
mosaic  pavement  —  all  made  by  Timberio.  0,  the  devil 
that  he  was  ! "  Timberio  is  the  favorite  demon  of  the 
people  of  Capri.  I  suspect  they  would  not  give  him  up  for 
any  consideration.  A  wine  of  the  island  is  called  the  "  Tears 
of  Tiberius  "  (when  did  he  ever  shed  any,  I  wonder  ?  ),  just 
as  the  wine  of  Vesuvius  is  called  the  Tears  of  Christ.  When 
I  pointed  to  the  distant  volcano,  whose  plume  of  silver  smoke 
was  the  sign  of  the  active  eruption,  and  said  to  the  woman, 
"  Timberio  is  at  work  yonder ! "  she  nodded  her  head,  and 
answered  :  "  Ah,  the  devil !  to  be  sure  he  is." 

We  picked  our  way  through  the  ruirs,  tracing  three 
stories  of  the  palace,  which  must  have  been  four,  if  not 
five  stories  high  on  the  land  side.  Some  drums  of  marble 
columns  are  scattered  about,  bits  of  stucco  remain  at  the 
bases  of  the  walls  ;  there  is  a  corridor  paved  with  mosaic, 
descending,  curiously  enough,  in  an  inclined  plane,  and  the 
ground-plan  of  a  small  theatre  ;  but  the  rubbish  left  does 
not  even  hint  of  the  former  splendor.  It  is  not  one  of  those 
pathetic  ruins  which  seem  to  appeal  to  men  for  preserva- 
tion ;  it  rather  tries  to  hide  itself  from  view,  welcoming  the 
broom,  the  myrtle,  and  the  caper-shrub  to  root-hold  in  its 
masses  of  brick  and  mortar. 

On  the  topmost  platform  of  ruin  is  the  little  chapel  of 
Santa  Maria  del  Soccorso,  together  with  the  hermitage  of 
a  good-natured  friar,  who  brings  you  a  chair,  offers  you  bits 
of  Tiberian  marble,  and  expects  a  modest  alms.  Here  I 
found  the  wild  Englishman,  sitting  on  a  stone  berich  beside 
the  chapel.     He   pointed  over  the  parapet  to  the  awful 


A   WEEK   ON   CAPRT.  347 

j««cipice,  and  asked  me :  "  Did  yoii  ever  go  over  there  ?  i 
did  once  —  to  get  some  jonquils.  You  know  the  rock- 
jonquils  are  the  finest."  Then  he  took  my  glass,  looked 
through  it  at  the  distant  shores,  and  began  to  laugh.  •'  This 
reminds  me,"  said  he,  "  of  a  man  who  was  blown  up  with  his 
house  several  hundred  feet  into  the  air.  He  was  immensely 
frightened,  when,  all  at  once,  he  saw  his  neighbor's  house 
beside  him  —  blown  up  too.  And  the  neighbor  called  out : 
'  How  long  do  you  think  it  will  take  us  to  get  down  again  ?' 
Cool  —  wasn't  it  ?  "  Thereupon  he  went  to  the  ladies  of 
the  party,  whom  he  advised  to  go  to  the  marina,  and  see  the 
people  catch  shrimps.  "  It's  a  beautiful  sight,"  he  said. 
"  The  girls  are  so  fresh  and  rosy  —  but,  then,  so  are  the 
shrimps  ! " 

It  is  no  lost  time,  if  you  sit  down  upon  a  block  of  marble 
in  the  Villa  Jovis,  and  dream  a  long,  bewildering  day-dream. 
Here  it  is  almost  as  much  a  riot  for  the  imagination  to 
restore  what  once  was,  as  to  create  what  might  be.  The 
temples  of  Minerva  and  Apollo,  across  the  strait,  were  both 
visible  from  this  point.  Looking  over  Capri,  you  place  the 
second  palace  of  Tiberius  on  the  summit  of  Monte  Tuoro. 
which  rises  against  the  sea  on  your  right ;  the  third  on  the 
southern  side  of  the  island,  a  little  further ;  the  fourth  on 
Monte  San  Michele ;  the  fifth  and  sixth  beyond  the  town 
of  Capri,  near  the  base  of  the  mountain  wall.  Eoads  con- 
necting these  piles  of  splendor  cross  the  valleys  on  high 
arches,  and  climb  the  peaks  in  laborious  curves.  Beyond 
the  bay,  the  headland  of  Misenum  and  the  shores  of  Baiae 
are  one  long  glitter  of  marble.  Villas  and  temples  crown 
the  heights  of  Puteoli,  and  stretch  in  an  unbroken  line  to 
Neapolis.  Here  the  vision  grows  dim,  but  you  know  what 
magnificence  fills  the  whole  sweep  of  the  shore  —  Portici 
and  Pompeii  and  Stabiae,  growing  visible  again  as  the  pal- 
aces shine  above  the  rocks  of  Surrentum  ! 

After  the  wonder  that  such  things  were,  the  next  greatest 
vronder  is  that  they  have  so  utterly  vanished.      What  is 


848  BY-WAYS  OF   EUROPE. 

preserved  is  so  fresh  and  solid  that  Time  seems  to  haT« 
done  the  least  towards  their  destruction.  The  masonry  of 
Capri  can  scarcely  have  been  carried  away,  while  such 
quarries  —  still  unexhausted  —  were  supplied  by  the  main- 
land ;  and  the  tradition  is  probably  correct,  that  the  palacea 
of  Tiberius  were  razed  to  the  ground  immediately  after  his 
fall.  The  charms  of  the  island  were  first  discovered  by 
Augustus.  Its  people  were  still  Greek,  in  his  day  ;  and  it 
belonged  to  the  Greek  Neapolis,  to  which  he  gave  the  larger 
and  richer  Ischia  in  exchange  for  it.  The  ruins  of  the  Villa 
Jovis  are  supposed  to  represent,  also,  the  site  of  his  palace  ; 
and  Tiberius,  who  learned  diplomacy  from  the  cunning 
Emperor,  and  criiTie  from  the  P^mpress,  his  own  mother, 
first  came  hither  with  him.  A  period  of  twenty  or  thirty 
}ears  saw  the  splendors  of  Capri  rise  and  fall.  After 
Tiberius,  the  island  ceased  to  have  a  history. 

Every  walk  on  these  heights,  whence  you  look  out  far 
over  bays,  seas,  and  shores,  is  unlike  anything  else  in  the 
world.  It  is  surprising  what  varieties  of  scenery  are 
embraced  in  this  little  realm.  In  the  afternoon  we  saw 
another  phase  of  it  on  the  southern  shore,  at  a  point 
called  the  Marina  Piccola.  After  passing  below  the  town 
and  the  terraced  fields,  we  came  upon  a  wild  slope,  grown 
with  broom  and  mastic  and  arbutus,  among  which  cows 
were  feeding.  Here  the  island  shelves  down  rapidly  be- 
tween two  near  precipices.  The  wind  was  not  felt ;  the  air 
was  still  and  warm,  and  the  vast,  glittering  sea  basked  in  the 
sun.  At  the  bottom  we  found  three  fishers'  houses  stuck 
among  the  rocks,  more  like  rough  natural  accretions  than 
the  work  of  human  hand  ;  a  dozen  boats  hauled  up  on  the 
stones  in  a  cove  about  forty  feet  in  diameter  ;  and  one  soli- 
tary  man.  Silence  and  savage  solitude  mark  the  spot.  East- 
ward, the  Faraglioni  rise  in  gray-red,  inaccessible  cones ; 
the  ramparts  of  the  Castello  make  sharp,  crenelated  zigzags 
on  the  sky,  a  thousand  feet  above  one's  head ;  and  only  a 
few  olive  groves,  where  Monte  Tuoro  falls  into  the  Val 


A   WEEK   ON  CAPRI.  Md 

Tragara,  speak  of  cultivation.  One  might  fancy  himself  to 
be  upon  some  lone  Pacific  island.  The  fisher  told  us  that 
in  tempests  the  waves  are  hurled  entirely  over  the  houses, 
and  boats  in  the  cove  are  then  dashed  to  pieces.  But  in 
May,  the  quails,  weary  with  their  flight  from  Africa,  land  on 
the  slope  above,  and  are  caught  in  nets  by  hundreds  and 
thousands. 

We  had  not  yet  exhausted  the  lower,  or  eastern  half  of 
the  island.  Another  morning  was  devoted  to  the  Arco 
Naturale,  on  the  southern  coast,  between  Monte  Tuoro  and 
the  Salto.  Scrambling  along  a  stony  lane,  between  the 
laborious  terraces  of  the  Capri  farmers,  we  soon  reached 
the  base  of  the  former  peak,  where,  completely  hidden  from 
view,  lay  a  rich  circular  basin  of  level  soil,  not  more  than  a 
hundred  yards  in  diameter.  Only  two  or  three  houses  were 
visible  ;  some  boys,  hoeing  in  a  field  at  a  distance,  cried  out, 
"  Sig7io',  un  baioc' !  "  with  needless  iteration,  as  if  the  words 
were  a  greeting.  Presently  we  came  upon  a  white  farm- 
house, out  of  which  issued  an  old  woman  and  four  wild, 
frouzy  girls  —  all  of  whom  attached  themselves  to  us,  and 
would  not  be  shaken  off". 

We  were  already  on  the  verge  of  the  coast.  Over  the 
jagged  walls  of  rock  we  saw  the  plain  of  Paestum  beyond 
the  sea,  which  opened  deeper  and  bluer  beneath  us  with 
every  step.  The  rich  garden-basin  and  the  amphitheatre 
of  terraced  fields  on  Monte  Tuoro  were  suddenly  shut  from 
view.  A  perpendicular  cliff  of  white  rock  arose  on  the 
right ;  ana  below  some  rough  shelves  wrought  into  fields 
stood  the  Natural  Arch,  like  the  front  of  a  shattered  Gothic 
cathedral.  Its  background  was  the  sea,  which  shone  through 
the  open  arch.  High  up  on  the  left  over  the  pointed  crags, 
stood  a  single  rock  shaped  like  a  Rhine-wine  beaker,  hold- 
ing its  rounded  cup  to  the  sky.  There  is  scarcely  a  wilder 
view  on  Capri. 

Following  the  rough  path  by  which  the  people  reach  their 
little  fields,  we  clambered  down  the  'ocks,  along  the  brink 


860  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

of  steeps  which  threatened  danger  whenevdt  the  gusts  of 
wind  came  around  the  point.  The  frouzy  girls  were  at  hand, 
and  eager  to  help.  When  we  declined,  they  claimed  money 
for  having  given  us  their  company,  and  we  found  it  prudent 
to  settle  the  bill  at  once.  The  slope  was  so  steep  that  every 
brink  of  rock,  from  above,  seemed  to  be  the  last  between  us 
and  the  sea.  Our  two  boy-attendants  went  down  somewhere, 
out  of  sight;  and  their  song  came  up  through  the  roar  of 
the  wind  like  some  wild  strain  of  the  Sirens  whose  isles  we 
saw  in  the  distance.  The  rock  is  grandly  arched,  with  a 
main  portal  seventy  or  eighty  feet  high,  and  two  open 
windows  at  the  sides. 

Half-way  down  the  clifiF  on  the  right  is  the  grotto  of 
Mitromania  —  a  name  which  the  people,  of  course,  have 
changed  into  "  Matrimonio,"  as  if  the  latter  word  had  an 
application  to  Tiberius !  There  were  some  two  hundred 
steps  to  descend,  to  a  little  platform  of  earth,  under  the 
overhanging  cliffs.  Here  the  path  dropped  suddenly  into 
a  yawning  crevice,  the  floor  of  which  was  traversed  with 
cracks,  as  if  ready  to  plunge  into  the  sea  which  glimmered 
up  through  them.  Passing  under  the  gloomy  arch,  we  came 
upon  a  chamber  of  reticulated  Roman  masonry,  built  in  a 
side  cavity  of  the  rock,  which  forms  part  of  the  main  grotto 
or  temple  of  Mithras.  The  latter  is  about  one  hundred  feet 
deep  and  fifty  wide,  and  opens  directly  towards  the  sunrise. 

Antiquarians  derive  the  name  of  the  grotto  from  Magnum 
Mithrce  Antrum.  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  as  to  its 
character :  one  can  still  perceive  the  exact  spot  where  the 
statue  of  the  god  was  placed,  to  catch  the  first  beams  of  his 
own  luminary,  coming  from  Persia  to  be  welcomed  and 
worshipped  on  the  steeps  of  Capri.  T-t  is  difficult  to  say 
what  changes  time  and  earthquakes  may  not  have  wrought; 
but  it  seems  probable  that  the  ancient  temple  extended  to 
the  front  of  the  cliffs,  and  terminated  in  a  platform  hanging 
over  the  sea.  A  Greek  inscription  found  in  this  grotto 
associates  it  both  with  the  superstition  and  the  cruelty  of 


A   WEEK   ON   CAPBI.  861 

Tiberius.  I  have  not  seen  the  original,  which  is  in  the 
Museum  at  Naples,  but  here  repeat  it  front  the  translation 
of  Gregorovius :  — 

"  Ye  who  inhabit  the  Stygian  land,  beneficent  demons. 
Me,  the  unfortunate,  take  ye  also  now  to  your  Hades,  — 
Me,  whom  not  the  will  of  the  gods,  but  the  power  of  the  Ruler, 
Suddenly  smote  with  death,  which,  guiltless,  1  never  suspected. 
Crowned  with  so  many  a  gift,  enjoying  the  favor  of  Caesar, 
Now  he  destroyeth  my  hopes  and  the  hopes  of  my  parents. 
Not  fifteen  have  I  reached,  not  twenty  the  years  I  have  numbered, 
Ah !  and  no  more  I  behold  the  light  of  the  beautiful  heavens. 
Hypatos  am  I  by  name:  to  thee  I  appeal,  0  my  brother,  — 
Parents,  also,  I  pray  you,  unfortunate,  mourn  me  no  longer!  " 

A.  human  sacrifice  is  here  clearly  indicated.  This  mys- 
terious cavern,  with  its  diabolical  associations,  the  giddy 
horror  of  the  Salto,  and  the  traces  of  more  than  one  con- 
cealed way  of  escape,  denoting  the  fear  which  is  always 
allied  with  cruelty,  leave  an  impression  which  the  efforts  of 
those  historiasters  who  endeavor  to  whitewash  Tiberius 
cannot  weaken  with  all  their  arguments.  Napoleon  was 
one  of  his  admirers,  but  his  opinion  on  such  matters  is  of 
no  great  weight.  When  Dr.  Adolf  Stahr,  however,  devotes 
a  volume  to  the  work  of  proving  Tiberius  to  have  been  a 
good  and  much-abused  man,  we  turn  to  the  pages  of  Sue- 
tonius and  the  Spintrian  medals,  and  are  not  convinced. 
The  comment  of  the  old  woman  at  the  Villa  Jovis  will 
always  express  the  general  judgment  of  mankind,  —  "  0, 
che  diavolo  era  Timherio!  " 

If  you'stand  at  the  gate  of  the  town,  and  look  eastward 
towards  the  great  dividing  wall,  you  can  detect,  on  the 
corner  nearest  the  sea,  the  zigzag  line  of  the  only  path 
which  leads  up  to  Anacapri  and  the  western  part  of  the 
island.  One  morning  when  the  boy  Manfred,  as  he  brought 
our  coffee,  told  us  that  the  tramontana  had  ceased  blowing, 
we  sent  for  horses,  to  make  the  ascent.  We  had  been 
awakened  by  volleys  of  musketry  ;  the  church-bells  were 
chiming,  and  there  were  signs  of  a  festa,  —  but  Felice,  th« 


B62  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBOPE. 

owner  of  the  horses,  explained  the  matter.     Two  young 

men,  manners  of  Capri,  had  recently  suffered  shipwreck  on 

the  coast  of  Calabria.     Their  vessel  was  lost,  and  they  only 

saved  their  lives  because  they  happened,  at  the  critical 

moment,  to  call  on  the  Madonna  del  Carmine.     She  heard 

and  helped  them  :  they  reached  home  in  safety,  and  on  thia 

day  they  burned  a  lamp  before  her  shrine,  had  a  mass  said 

in  their  names,  and  invited  their  families  and  friends  to 

share  in  the  thanksgiving.     I  heard  the  bells  with  delight, 

for  they  expressed   the  poetry  of  superstition   based  on 

truth. 

We  set  out,  in 

"  The  halcyon  morn 
To  hoar  February  bora." 

Indeed,  «Juch  a  day  makes  one  forget  tramontana,  sirocco, 
and  all  the  other  weather-evils  of  the  Italian  winter.  Words 
cannot  describe  the  luxury  of  the  air,  the  perfect  stillness 
and  beauty  of  the  day,  and  the  far,  illuminated  shores  of 
the  bay  as  they  opened  before  us.  We  saw  that  the  season 
had  turned,  in  the  crocusses  and  violets  which  blossomed 
beside  the  path  —  the  former  a  lovely  pale-purple  flower, 
with  fire-tinted  stamens.  With  Felice  came  two  little  girls, 
Luigia  and  -Serafina,  the  former  of  whom  urged  on  a 
horse,  while  the  other  carried  on  her  head  the  basket  of 
provisions.  Our  small  factotum,  Augusto,  took  charge  of 
the  bottles  of  wine,  and  Felice  himself  bore  the  shawls 
and  books.  Beyond  the  town,  the  path  wound  between 
clumps  of  myrtle,  arbutus,  and  the  delicate  white  erica, 
already  in  bud.  Under  us  lay  the  amphitheatre  of  vine- 
yards and  orange-groves ;  and  the  town  of  Capri,  behind, 
stretching  from  San  Michele  to  the  foot  of  the  Castello, 
seemed  a  fortified  city  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Over  the 
glassy  sea  rose  Vesuvius,  apparently  peaceful,  yet  with  a 
demon  at  work  under  that  silvery  cloud  ;  Monte  St.  Angelo, 
snowy  and  bleak  ;  and  the  rich  slopes  of  Sorrento  and 
Massa. 


A  WEEK   ON   CAPRI.  968 

One  of  the  giumente  (as  Felice  called  his  horses)  turned 
on  seeing  the  rocky  staircase,  and  tried  to  escape.  But  it 
was  a  sign  of  protest,  not  of  hope.  They  were  small,  un 
shod,  very  peaceful  creatures,  doomed  to  a  sorry  fate,  but 
they  never  had  known  anything  better.  Their  horse-ideal 
was  derived  from  the  hundred  yards  of  Mnstony  path  below 
Capri,  and  the  few  fresh  turnips  and  carrots  which  they  get 
on  holidays.  It  was,  perhaps,  a  waste  of  sympathy  to  pity 
them  ;  yet  one  inclines  to  pity  beasts  more  readily  than  men. 

At  the  foot  of  the  staircase  we  dismounted,  and  prepared 
to  climb  the  giddy  steep.  There  are  five  hundred  and 
sixty  steps,  and  they  will  average  more  than  a  foot  in 
height.  It  is  a  fatiguing  but  not  dangerous  ascent,  the 
overhanging  side  being  protected  by  a  parapet,  while  the 
frequent  landings  afford  secure  resting-places.  On  the 
white  precipices  grew  the  blue  "  flower  of  spring  "  {Jiore 
delta  primavera),  and  the  air  was  sweet  with  odors  of  un- 
known buds.  Up  and  still  up,  we  turned  at  each  angle  to 
enjoy  the  wonderful  aerial  view,  which,  on  such  a  morning, 
made  me  feel  half-fledged,  with  sprouting  wings  which  ere- 
long might  avail  to  bear  me  across  the  hollow  gulf.  We 
met  a  fellow  with  a  splendid  Roman  head,  whereon  he  was 
carrying  down  to  the  marina  the  huge  oaken  Ijnee  of  some 
future  vessel.  Surprised  at  the  size  of  the  timber,  I  asked 
Felice  whether  it  really  grew  upon  the  island,  and  he  said 
there  were  large  oaks  about  and  beyond  Anacapri. 

Half-way  up,  the  chapel  of  Sunt'  Antonio  stands  on  a 
little  spur,  projecting  from  the  awful  precipices.  Looking 
down,  you  see  the  ruins  of  the  Palazzo  a'  Mare  of  Tiberius, 
the  bright  turquoise  patches  where  the  water  is  shallow, 
and  its  purple  tint  in  shadow.  "White  sails  were  stretching 
across  from  the  headland  of  Sorrento,  making  for  the  Blue 
Grotto.  There  were  two  more  very  long  and  steep  flights 
of  steps,  and  then  we  saw  the  gate  on  the  summit,  arched 
against  the  sky.  Hanging  from  the  rocks,  but  inaccessible, 
were  starry  bunches  of  daffodils.  It  had  seemed  to  ma  on 
23 


354  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

looking  at  the  rocky  walls  from  Capri,  that  an  easier  ptnnt 
of  ascent  might  have  been  chosen,  and  I  believe  it  is  settled 
that  Tiberius  visited  his  four  western  palaces  by  a  differ- 
ent path  ;  but  I  now  saw  that  the  islanders  (not  possessing 
despotic  power)  have  really  chosen  the  most  accessible 
point.  The  table-land  beyond  does  not,  as  I  had  imagined, 
commence  at  the  summit  of  the  cliffs,  but  far  below  them, 
and  this  staircase  strikes  the  easiest  level. 

There  are  few  equal  surprises  on  Capri.  Not  many 
more  steps,  and  we  found  ourselves  on  a  rich  garden-plain, 
bounded  on  the  left  by  stony  mountains,  but  elsewhere 
stretching  away  to  sky  and  sea,  without  a  hint  of  the  tre- 
mendous cliffs  below.  Indeed,  but  for  the  luminous,  trem- 
bling haze  around  the  base  of  the  sky,  one  would  not  sur- 
mise the  nearness  of  the  sea,  but  rather  think  himself  to 
be  in  some  inland  region.  The  different  properties  are 
walled,  but  there  is  no  need  of  terraces.  Shining  white 
houses,  with  domed  roofs,  stand  in  the  peaceful  fields.  The 
fruit-trees  grow  rank,  huge  oaks  and  elms  with  ivied  trunks 
rise  above  them,  and  the  landscape  breathes  a  sweet,  idyllic 
air.  I  noticed  many  cherry-trees  of  great  size.  The  oaks, 
though  deciduous,  still  wore  the  green  leaves  of  last  sum- 
mer, which  will  only  be  'pushed  from  the  twigs  when  this 
year's  buds  open.  High  over  this  pleasant  land,  on  a  bare 
rock,  are  the  towers  of  a  mediaeval  castle,  now  named  after 
Barbarossa  —  the  corsair,  not  the  Emperor. 

Presently  we  came  to  Anacapri,  cleanest,  most  pictur- 
esque and  delightful  of  Italian  villages.  How  those  white 
houses,  with  their  airy  loggias,  their  pillared  pergolas,  and 
their  trim  gardens,  wooed  us  to  stay,  and  taste  the  delight 
of  rest,  among  a  simple,  beautiful,  ignorant,  and  honest  peo- 
ple !  The  streets  were  as  narrow  and  shady  as  those  of 
iny  oriental  city,  and  thii  houses  mostly  presented  a  blank 
side  to  them  ;  but  there  were  many  arches,'  each  opening 
on  a  sunny  picture  of  slim,  dark-haired  beauties  spinning 
silk,  or  grandams  regulating  the  frolics  of  children.     The 


A  WEEK   ON   CAPBI.  355 

latter,  seeing  us,  begged  for  hajocchi ;  and  even  the  ^rls 
3id  the  same,  but  laughingly,  with  a  cheerful  mimicry  of 
mendicancy.  The  piazza  of  the  village  is  about  as  large  aa 
the  dining-room  of  a  hotel.  A  bright  little  church  occu- 
pies one  side  ;  and,  as  there  was  said  to  be  a  view  from  the 
roof,  we  sent  for  the  key,  which  was  brought  by  three  giils. 
T  made  out  the  conjectured  location  of  the  ninth,  tenth, 
eleventh,  and  twelfth  palaces  of  Tiberius,  whereof  only  a 
few  stones  remain,  and  then  found  that  the  best  view  was 
that  of  the  three  girls.  They  had  the  low  brow,  straight 
nose,  short  upper  lip,  and  rounded  chin  which  belongs  to 
the  Caprese  type  of  beauty,  and  is  rather  Hellenic  than 
Roman.  Their  complexion  was  dark,  sunburnt  rather  than 
olive,  and  there  was  a  rich  flush  of  blood  on  their  cheeks  ; 
the  eyes  long  and  large,  and  the  teeth  white  as  the  kernels 
of  fresh  filberts.  Their  bare  feet  and  hands,  spoiled  by 
much  tramping  and  hard  work,  were  out  of  keeping  with 
their  graceful,  statuesque  beauty.  A  more  cheerful  picture 
of  Poverty  (for  they  are  all  miserably  poor),  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find. 

It  was  but  a  mile  further  to  the  headland  of  Damecuta. 
Felice,  however,  advised  us  rather  to  visit  the  tower  of 
Lima,  above  the  Punta  della  Carena,  the  northwestern 
extremity  of  the  island,  and  his  advice  proved  to  be  good 
in  the  end.  We  descended  a  stony  steep  into  a  little  val- 
ley, shaded  by  superb  olive-groves,  under  which  the  crops 
of  lupines  were  already  beginning  to  blossom.  The  dell 
fell  deeper  as  we  advanced  ;  the  grass  was  starred  with  red 
anemones,  and  there  were  odors  of  concealed  violets.  A 
mile  further,  we  came  upon  a  monastery,  with  a  square, 
crenelated  tower,  beyond  which  the  fields  gave  place  to  a 
narrow  strip  of  stony  down.  All  at  once  the  shore  yawned 
boneath  us,  disclosing  the  extremity  of  the  island,  with 
three  deserted  batteries  on  as  many  points  of  rock,  a  new 
light-house,  and  the  little  covie  where  the  troops  of  Murat 
landed,  when  they  surprised  the  English  and  recaptured 


850  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

Capri,  in  1808.  Westward,  there  was  a  wide  sweep  of 
sunny  sea  ;  northward,  Ischia,  Procidu  with  its  bright  town, 
Baiae  and  Pozzuoli.  Here,  at  the  foot  of  an  old  martellc 
tower,  we  made  our  noon  halt,  relieving  Serafina  of  the 
weight  of  her  basket,  and  Augusto  of  his  bottles. 

The  children  and  young  girls,  going  out  to  their  work  in 
the  fields,  begged  rather  pertinaciously.  "  We  are  very 
poor,"  they  cried  ;  '•  and  you  are  so  grand  and  beautiful  you 
can  surely  give  us  something."  On  the  return,  we  met  a 
group  of  lively  maidens  coming  up  from  Capri,  who  said, 
when  I  told  them  there  were  no  more  bajocchi  in  my  pock- 
ets :  "  Well,  then,  give  us  a  franc,  and  we  will  divide  it 
among  us  !  "  Nevertheless,  begging  is  not  the  nuisance 
on  Capri  that  it  is  on  the  main-land.  It  is  always  good- 
humored,  and  refusal  is  never  followed  by  maledictions. 
The  poor  are  positively  and  certainly  poor,  and  they  seem 
to  think  it  no  shame  to  take  what  they  can  get  over  and 
above  their  hard  earnings.  When  one  sees  how  very  in- 
dustrious and  contented  they  are,  it  is  rather  a  pleasure  to 
add  a  few  coppers  to  the  little  store  laid  aside  for  their 
holidays. 

With  every  day,  every  hour,  of  our  residence,  we  more 
fully  realized  the  grandeur  and  variety  of  the  landscapes 
of  Capri.  The  week  which  I  thought  sufficient  to  enable 
us  to  see  the  island  thoroughly  drew  towards  its  close ;  and 
although  we  had  gone  from  end  to  end  of  the  rocky  shores, 
climbed  all  the  principal  peaks,  and  descended  into  every 
dell  and  ravine,  our  enjoyment  was  only  whetted,  not  ex- 
hausted. The  same  scenes  grow  with  every  repetition. 
There  is  not  a  path  or  crooked  lane  among  the  old  houses, 
which  does  not  keep  a  surprise  in  reserve.  The  little 
town,  with  only  here  and  there  a  stone  to  show  for  the 
Past,  with  no  architectural  interest  whatever,  is  neverthe- 
less a  labyrinth  of  picturesque  effects.  In  -the  houses,  all 
the  upper  chambers  are  vaulted,  and  the  roofs  domed  above 
them  as  in  the  Orient ;  while  on  one  or  more  sides  there 


A  WEEK   ON   CAPBI.  367 

18  a  loggia  or  arched  veranda,  overhung  with  cornice  of 
grapevines,  or  gay  with  vases  of  blooming  plants.  Thick 
walls,  narrow  windows,  external  staircases,  palm-trees  in 
the  gardens,  and  raised  platforms  of  masonry  placed  so  as 
to  catch  the  breezes  of  sunmier  nights,  increase  the  resem- 
blance to  the  Orient.  Living  there,  Syria  seems  to  be 
nearer  than  Naples. 

In  the  Val  Tragara,  near  the  sea,  there  is  a  large  de- 
serted moiiastery,  the  Certosa,  dating  from  the  fourteenth 
century.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  monks  have  either  picked 
out  the  choicest  spot  for  their  abode  or  have  made  it  beau- 
tiful by  their  labor.  The  Certosa  is  still  stately  and  im- 
posing in  its  ruin.  In  the  church  the  plaster  is  peeling  off, 
leaving  patches  of  gay  fresco  on  the  walls  and  ceiling. 
The  sacristy  and  an  adjoining  chapel  are  riddled  with  can- 
non-balls; and  two  recumbent  marble  statues  of  the  foun- 
ders, resting  on  their  sarcophagi,  look  at  each  other  from 
opposite  sides,  and  seem  to  wonder  what  the  desolation 
means.  The  noble  court-yard,  surrounded  with  arched  cor- 
ridors, is  dug  up  for  a  garden  ;  there  is  straw  and  litter  in 
the  crumbling  cells  ;  and  the  prior's  apartment,  with  its 
wonderful  sea  and  coast  views,  is  without  an  occupant. 
The  garden  only  has  not  forgotten  its  former  luxury.  Its 
vines  and  fig-trees  equal  those  of  Crete  and  Syria ;  and  its 
cactuses  have  become  veritable  trees,  twenty  feet  in  height. 
The  monks  succeeded  in  getting  hold  of  the  best  land  on 
the  island  ;  yet  1  have  no  doubt  that  the  very  people  they 
impoverished  wish  them  back  again. 

The  Caprese  are  very  devout  and  superstitious.  They 
have  two  devils  ("  Timberio  "  being  one),  and  a  variety  of 
saints.  The  beautiful  little  church  in  the  '^own,  externallj 
so  much  like  a  mosque,  is  filled  with  votive  offerings, 
painted  or  modeled  in  w^ax,  each  of  which  has  its  own 
story  of  miraculous  interposition  and  escape.  On  one  side 
of  the  nave  sits  in  state  the  Madonna  del  Carmine,  —  a 
life-sized  doll,  with  fair  complexion,  blue  eyes,  and  a  pro. 


358  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBOPE. 

fusion  of  long  curling  tresses  of  real  blonde  hair.  In  hei 
lap  she  holds  a  dwarfish  man,  with  hair  of  nearly  equal 
length.  A  dozen  wax-candles  were  burning  before  her,  in 
anticipation  of  her  coming  festa,  which  took  place  before 
we  left  Capri.  She  is  the  patron  saint  of  the  coral-fishers, 
none  of  whom  neglected  to  perform  their  share  of  the  cel- 
ebration. 

The  day  was  ushered  in  with  volleys  of  musketry,  and 
the  sounds,  or  rather  cries,  of  the  worst  brass  band  I  ever 
heard,  which  went  from  house  to  house,  blowing,  and  col- 
lecting coppers.  After  the  forenoon  mass,  the  procession 
was  arranged  in  the  church,  and  then  set  out  to  make  the 
tour  of  the  town.  First  came  the  members  of  a  confrater- 
nity, mostly  grizzly  old  men,  in  white  gowns,  with  black 
capes,  lined  with  red  ;  then  followed  a  number  of  small 
boys,  behind  whom  marched  the  coral-fishers,  forty  or  fifty 
in  number  —  brown,  weather-beaten  faces,  burned  by  the 
summers  of  the  African  coast  They  were  dressed  with 
unusual  care,  and  their  throats  seemed  ill  at  ease  inside  of 
collar  and  cravat.  Every  one  in  the  procession  carried  a 
taper,  which  he  shielded  from  the  wind  with  the  hollow  left 
hand,  while  his  right  managed  also  to  collect  the  melted 
wax.  Next  appeared  the  Madonna,  on  her  litter  of  state, 
followed  by  six  men,  who  bore  her  silken  canopy.  In  her 
train  were  the  priests,  and  about  a  hundred  women  and 
girls  brought  up  the  rear. 

Among  the  latter  there  were  some  remarkably  lovely 
faces.  The  mixture  of  yellow,  blue,  and  scarlet  colors 
which  they  delight  to  wear  contrasted  brilliantly  with  the 
glossy  blackness  of  their  hair  and  the  sunny  richness  of 
their  complexion.  The  island  costume,  however,  is  begin- 
ning to  disappear.  Only  a  few  girls  wore  the  mucadore,  or 
folded  handkerchief,  on  the  head,  while  several  were  grand 
in  wide  silk  skirts  and  crinolines.  The  people  are  not  en« 
vious,  but  many  a  longing  glance  followed  thfjse  progres* 
Bi^e  maidens. 


A  WEEK   ON   CAPRI.  369 

In  so  small  a  domain  as  Capri,  all  that  happens  is  known 
to  everybody.  A  private  romance  is  not  possible ;  and  so, 
on  this  occasion,  the  crowd  on  the  little  piazza  were  moved 
by  a  curiosity  which  had  no  relation  to  the  Madonna  del 
Carmine.  The  story,  as  I  received  it,  is  this :  Nearly  a 
year  ago,  the  aunt  of  a  beautiful  girl  who  was  betrothed  to 
one  of  the  young  coral-fishers  was  visited  by  an  Englishman 
then  staying  at  the  Hotel  Tiberio,  who  declared  to  her  his 
violent  love  for  the  niece,  and  solicited  her  good  offices  to 
have  the  previous  engagement  broken  off.  Soon  after  this 
the  Englishman  left ;  the  aunt  informed  the  girl's  father  of 
the  matter,  the  betrothal  with  the  coral-fisher  was  sus- 
pended, and  the  father  spent  most  of  his  time  in  frequent- 
ing the  hotels  to  ascertain  whether  a  rich  young  English- 
man had  arrived.  A  few  days  before  our  visit  to  Capri, 
the  girl  received  presents  from  her  unseen  and  unknown 
wooer,  with  a  message  requesting  her  not  to  appear  in  the 
procession  of  the  Madonna  del  Carmine.  The  Englishman 
stated  that  he  was  at  the  Hotel  Tiberio,  and  only  waited 
the  arrival  of  certain  papers  in  order  to  claim  her  as  his 
bride.  Thereupon  the  father  came  to  the  hotel,  but  failed 
to  discover  the  mysterious  stranger.  Two  artists,  and 
several  ladies  who  were  there,  offered  to  assist  him  :  but 
the  mystery  still  remained  unsolved.  Other  letters  and 
presents  came  to  the  girl ;  but  no  young,  rich  Englishman 
could  be  found  on  the  island.  The  artists  and  ladies  took 
up  the  matter  (determined,  I  am  very  glad  to  say,  to  drive 
away  the  Englishman,  if  there  were  one,  and  marry  the 
girl  to  the  coral-fisher),  but  T  have  not  yet  heard  of  any 
denouement.  The  young  fisher  appeared  in  the  procession, 
bxit  the  girl  did  not ;  consequently,  everybody  knew  that  the 
mysterious  letters  and  presents  had  made  her  faithless. 
For  my  part.  I  hope  the  coral-fisher  —  a  bright,  stalwart, 
handsome  young  fellow  —  will  find  a  truer  sweetheart. 

After  making  the  complete  tour  of  the  town,  which  oc- 
cupied about  half  an  hour,  the  procession  returned  to  the 


860  BY-WAYS  OF  EUBOPE. 

church.  The  coral-fishers  were  grave  and  devout ;  oue 
could  not  question  their  sincerity.  I  was  beginning  to 
find  the  scene  touching,  and  to  let  my  sympathy  go  fortL 
with  the  people,  when  the  sight  of  them  dropping  on  their 
knees  before  the  great,  staring  doll  of  a  Madonna,  as  sh« 
bobbed  along  on  the  shoulders  of  her  bearers,  turned  all  my 
softness  into  granite.  The  small  boys,  carrying  the  tapers 
before  her,  were  employed  in  trying  to  set  fire  to  each  other's 
shocks  of  uncombed  hair.  Two  of  them  succeeded,  and 
the  unconscious  victims  marched  at  least  a  dozen  steps  with 
blazing  heads,  and  would  probably  have  been  burned  to 
the  scalp  had  not  a  humane  by-stander  extinguished  the 
unfragrant  torches.  Then  everybody  laughed  ;  the  victims 
slapped  those  who  had  set  fire  to  them  ;  and  a  ridiculous 
comedy  was  enacted  in  the  very  presence  of  the  Madonna, 
who,  for  a  moment,  was  the  only  dignified  personage.  The 
girls  in  the  rear  struck  up  a  hymn  without  the  least  regard 
to  unison,  and  joked  and  laughed  together  in  the  midst  of 
it.  The  procession  dissolved  at  the  church  door,  and  not 
a  moment  too  soon,  for  it  had  already  lost  its  significance. 

I  have  purposely  left  the  Blue  Grotto  to  the  last,  as  for 
me  it  was  subordinate  in  interest  to  almost  all  else  that  I 
saw.  Still  it  was  part  of  the  inevitable  programme.  One 
calm  day  we  had  spent  in  the  trip  to  Anacapri,  and  another, 
at  this  season,  was  not  to  be  inmiediately  expected.  Never 
theless,  when  we  arose  on  the  second  morning  afterwards 
the  palm-leaves  hung  silent,  the  olives  twinkled  withoul 
motion,  and  the  southern  sea  glimmered  with  the  veiled 
light  of  a  calm.  Vesuvius  had  but  a  single  peaceful  plume 
of  smoke,  the  snows  of  the  Apulian  Mountains  gleamed 
rosily  behind  his  cone,  and  the  fair  headland  of  Sorrento 
shone  in  those  soft,  elusive,  aerial  grays,  which  must  be  the 
despair  of  a  painter.  It  was  a  day  for  the  Blue  Grotto, 
and  so  we  descended  to  the  marina. 

On  the  strand,  girls  with  disordered  hair  and  beautiful 
teeth  ofiered  shells  and  coral.    We  found  mariners  readily 


A  WEEK   ON   CAPBI.  361 

and,  after  a  little  hesitation,  pushed  off  in  a  large  boat, 
leaving  a  little  one  to  follow.  The  tramontana  had  left  a 
faint  swell  behind  it,  but  four  oars  carried  us  at  a  lively 
speed  along  the  shore.  We  passed  the  ruins  of  the  baths 
of  Tiberius  (the  Palazzo  a'  Mare),  and  then  slid  into  the 
purple  sliadows  of  the  cliffs,  which  rose  in  a  sheer  wall  five 
hundred  feet  above  the  water.  Two  men  sat  on  a  rock, 
fishing  with  poles  ;  and  the  boats  further  off  the  shore  were 
sinking  their  nets,  the  ends  of  which  were  buoyed  up  with 
gourds.  Pulling  along  in  the  shadows,  in  less  than  half  an 
hour  we  saw  the  tower  of  Daniecuta  shining  aloft,  above  a 
slope  of  olives  which  descended  steeply  to  the  sea.  Here, 
under  a  rough,  round  bastion  of  masonry,  was  the  entrance 
to  the  Blue  Grotto. 

We  were  now  transshipped  to  the  little  shell  of  a  boat 
which  had  followed  us.  The  swell  rolled  rather  heavily 
into  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  the  adventure  seemed  a 
little  perilous,  had  the  boatmen  been  less  experienced.  We 
lay  flat  in  the  bottom  ;  the  oars  were  taken  in,  and  we  had  just 
reached  the  entrance,  when  a  high  wave,  rolling  up,  threat- 
ened to  dash  us  against  the  iron  portals.  "  Look  out ! " 
cried  the  old  man.  The  young  sailor  held  the  boat  back 
with  his  hands,  while  the  wave  rolled  under  us  into  the 
darkness  beyond  ;  then,  seizing  the  moment,  we  shot  in 
after  it,  and  were  safe  under  the  expanding  roof.  At  first, 
all  was  tolerably  dark  :  I  only  saw  that  the  water  near  the 
entrance  was  intensely  and  luminously  blue.  Gradually, 
as  the  eye  grew  accustomed  to  the  obscurity,  the  irregular 
vault  of  the  roof  became  visible,  tinted  by  a  faint  reflection 
from  the  water.  The  effect  increased,  the  longer  we  re- 
mained ;  but  the  rock  nowhere  repeated  the  dazzling  sap- 
phire of  the  sea.  It  was  rather  a  blue-gray,  very  beautiful, 
but  far  from  presenting  the  effect  given  in  the  pictures 
sold  at  Naples.  The  silvery,  starry  radiance  ot  foam  or 
bubbles  on  the  shining  blue  ground  was  the  loveliest  phe- 
nomenon of  the  grotto.     To  dip  one's  hand  in  the  sea,  and 


362  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

scatter  the  water,  was  to  create  sprays  of  wonderftil,  phoa- 
phoresccut  blossoms,  jewels  of  the  Sirens,  flashing  and 
vanishing  garlands  of  the  Undines. 

A  chamber,  and  the  commencement  of  a  gallery  leading 
somewhere. — probably  to  the  twelfth  palace  of  Tiberius, 
on  the  headland  of  Damecuta,  —  were  to  be  distinguished 
near  the  rear  of  the  cavern.  But  rather  than  explore  fur- 
ther mysteries,  we  watched  our  chance  and  shot  out,  aft«r 
a  full-throated  wave,  into  the  flood  of  white  daylight  Keep- 
ing on  our  course  around  the  island,  we  passed  the  point  of 
Damecuta.  —  making  a  chord  to  the  arc  of  the  shore,  —  to 
the  first  battery,  beyond  which  the  Anacapri  territory 
opened  fairly  to  view.  From  the  northern  to  the  north- 
western cape  the  coast  sinks,  like  the  side  of  an  amphithea- 
tre, in  a  succession  of  curving  terraces,  gray  with  the 
abundant  olive.  Two  deep,  winding  ravines,  like  the 
wadies  of  Arabia,  have  been  worn  by  the  rainfall  of  thou- 
sands of  years,  until  they  have  split  the  shore-wall  down  to 
the  sea.  Looking  up  them,  we  could  guess  the  green  banks 
where  the  violets  and  anemones  grew,  and  the  clumps  of 
myrtle  that  perfumed  the  sea-breeze. 

Broad  and  grand  as  was  this  view,  it  was  far  surpassed 
by  the  coast  scenery  to  come.  No  sooner  had  we  passed 
the  pharos,  and  turned  eastward  along  the  southern  shore 
of  the  island,  than  every  sign  of  life  and  laborious  industry 
ceased.  The  central  mouptain-wall,  suddenly  broken  oflT 
as  it  reached  the  sea,  presented  a  face  of  precipice  a  thou- 
sand feet  high,  not  in  a  smooth  escarpment,  as  on  the 
northern  side,  but  cut  into  pyramids  and  pinnacles  of  ever- 
changing  form.  Our  necks  ached  with  gazing  at  the  far 
summits,  piercing  the  keen  blue  deeps  of  air.  In  one 
place  the  vast  gable  of  the  mountain  was  hollowed  into 
arches  and  grottos,  from  the  eaves  of  which  depended 
fringes  of  stalactite  ;  it  resembled  a  Titanic  cathedral  in 
ruins.  Above  the  orange  and  dove-colored  facets  of  the 
cliff,  the  jagged  topmost  crest  wore  an  ashen  tint  which  no 


A  WEEK   ON   CAPBI.  368 

longer  suggested  the  texture  of  rock.  It  seemed  rather  a 
soft,  mealy  substance,  which  one  might  crumble  between 
the  fingers.  The  critics  of  the  realistic  school  would  damn 
the  painter  who  should  represent  this  effect  truly. 

Under  these  amazing  crags,  over  a  smooth,  sunny  sea, 
we  sped  along  towards  a  point  where  the  boatman  said  we 
should  find  the  Green  Grotto.  It  lies  inside  a  short,  pro- 
jecting cape  of  the  perpendicular  shore,  and  our  approach 
to  it  was  denoted  by  a  streak  of  emerald  fire  flashing  along 
the  shaded  water  at  the  base  of  the  rocks.  A  few  more 
strokes  on  the  oars  carried  us  under  an  arch  twenty  feet 
high,  which  opened  into  a  rocky  cove  beyond.  The  water 
being  shallow,  the  white  bottom  shone  like  silver ;  and  the 
pure  green  hue  of  the  waves,  filled  and  flooded  with  the 
splendor  of  the  sun,  was  thrown  upon  the  interior  facings 
of  the  rocks,  making  the  cavern  gleam  like  transparent 
glass.  The  dance  of  the  waves,  the  reflex  of  the  "  netted 
sunbeams,"  threw  ripples  of  shifting  gold  all  over  this 
green  ground  ;  and  the  walls  and  roof  of  the  cavern,  so 
magically  illuminated,  seemed  to  fluctuate  in  unison  with 
the  tide.  It  was  a  marvelous  surprise,  making  truth  of 
Undine  and  the  Sirens,  Proteus  and  the  foam-born  Aphro- 
dite. The  brightness  of  the  day  increased  the  illusion,  and 
made  the  incredible  beauty  of  the  cavern  all  the  more 
startling,  because  devoid  of  gloom  and  mystery.  It  was 
an  idyl  of  the  sea,  born  of  the  god-lore  of  Greece.  To 
the  light,  lisping  whisper  of  the  waves,  —  the  sound  near- 
est to  that  of  a  kiss,  —  there  was  added  a  deep,  dim,  sub- 
dued undertone  of  the  swell  caught  in  lower  arches  beyond ; 
and  the  commencement  of  that  fine  posthumous  sonnet  of 
Keats  chimed  thenceforward  in  my  ears  :  — 

''  It  keeps  eternal  whisperings  around 
Desolate  shores,  and  with  its  mighty  swell 
Gluts  twice  ten  thousand  caverns,  fill  the  sjjell 
Of  Hecate  leaves  them  their  old  ihadoicy  sound.'" 

Afl^r  this,  although  the  same  enormous  piles  of  rock 


864  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

overhung  us,  there  were  no  new  surprises.  Thu  suhlimi^ 
and  the  beauty  of  this  southern  coast  had  reached  their 
climax  ;  and  we  turned  from  it  to  lean  over  the  gunwale 
of  the  boat,  and  watch  the  purple  growth  of  sponges 
through  the  heaving  crystal,  as  we  drew  into  the  cove  of 
the  piccolo  marina.  There  A.ugusto  was  waiting  our  ar- 
rival, the  old  fisher  was  ready  with  a  bench,  and  we  took 
the  upper  side  of  Capri. 

My  pen  lingers  on  the  subject,  yet  it  is  time  to  leave. 
When  the  day  of  our  departure  came,  I  wished  for  a  tramort' 
tana,  that  we  might  be  detained  until  the  morrow ;  but  no, 
it  was  a  mild  sirocco,  setting  directly  towards  Sorrento,  and 
Antonio  had  come  over,  although,  this  time,  without  any 
prediction  of  a  fine  day.  At  the  last  fatal  and  prosaic  mo- 
ment, when  the  joys  that  are  over  must  be  paid  for,  we  found 
Don  Michele  and  Manfred  as  honest  as  they  had  been  kind 
and  attentive.  "Would  we  not  come  back  some  time? 
asked  the  Don.     Certainly  we  will. 

When  the  sail  was  set,  and  our  foamy  track  pointed  to 
the  dear  isle  we  were  leaving,  I,  at  least,  was  conscious  of  a 
slight  heart-ache.  So  I  turned  once  more  and  cried  out, 
^  Addio,  Gaprif"  but  the  stern  Tiberian  rocks  did  not 
respond,   >  Ritomate . "  and  so  Capri  passed  into  memory. 


A  TRIP  TO  ISCHIA. 


The  island  of  Ischia,  rising  like  a  loftier  Sa.amis  at  the 
northern  entrance  of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  is  so  unlike  its  op- 
posite sentinel,  Capri,  that  the  landscape-painter,  to  whom 
the  peculiarities  of  mountain  forms  are  as  familiar  as  to 
the  geologist,  would  pronounce  as  readily  on  the  diversity 
of  its  origin.  The  latter  might  say  :  "  This  island  is  Plu- 
tonic, that  Neptunic ; "  and  the  former :  "  Here  are  long, 
finely  broken  outlines,  and  sharp,  serrated  summits ;  yon- 
der, broad  masses  and  sudden,  bold  escarpments ; "  but 
both  would  express  the  same  fact  in  different  dialects. 
The  two  islands  are  equidistant  from  the  main  land ;  they 
occupy  the  same  relative  position  to  the  bay  and  to  the 
central  Vesuvian  peak ;  they  are  equally  noble  land-marks 
to  the  mariners  coming  from  the  Tyrrhene  or  the  Ionian 
Sea.  Here  the  resemblance  ends.  Capri  is  the  resort  of 
artists,  Ischia  of  invalids.  Tiberius  and  the  Blue  Grotto 
belong  to  the  litany  of  travel ;  but  Ischia  —  larger,  richer, 
more  accessible  than  Capri  —  has  no  such  special  attrac- 
tions to  conmiend  it.     It  must  be  sought  for  its  own  sake. 

The  little  steamer  upon  which  I  embarked  at  Naples 
was  called  the  Tifeo,  from  Typhoeus,  the  Titan  who  lies 
buried  under  Eponieo,  like  Enceladus  under  Etna.  The 
decks  were  crowded ;  but  every  face  was  Italian,  and  every 
tongue  uttered  the  broad,  barbaric  dialect  of  Southern 
Italy.  Priests,  peasant-women,  small  traders,  sailors,  and 
fishermen  were  mingled  in  a  motley  mass,  setting  their 
faces  together  in  earnest  gossip,  and  turning  their  backs 
upon  sea,  shore,  and  sky.  As  we  passed  Castell'  dell'  Ovo, 
the  signs  of  the  recent  terrible  land-slide  on  the  rock  of 
Pizzofalcone  drew  their  attention  for  a  minute ;  and  I,  toOi 


368  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBJPt. 

looked  with  a  shudder  at  the  masses  of  rock  under  which 
I  had  lived,  unsuspectingly,  until  within  three  days  of  the 
catastrophe.  The  house  wherein  we  had  chosen  quarters 
was  crushed  to  atoms  ;  and,  although  nearly  a  month  had 
elapsed,  the  great  pile  of  ruin  was  not  yet  cleared  away. 

Onward  over  the  bright  blue  sea, — past  the  shores  of 
Posilippo,  the  marine  villa  of  LucuUus,  and  the  terraced 
steep,  yonder,  where  the  poet  Silius  Italicus  kept  sacred 
the  tomb  of  his  master,  Virgil,  —  past  the  burnt-out  crater 
of  N isida,  and  the  high,  white  houses  of  Pozzuoli,  until  the 
bay  of  Baiae  opens  to  the  right,  and  we  fetch  a  compass 
for  the  ancient  Cape  Miseiium.  How  these  names  stir  the 
blood  !  Yet  my  fellow-voyagers  never  lifted  their  eyes  to 
the  shores  ;  and  if  they  mentioned  the  names,  it  was,  per- 
haps, to  say,  ''  I  bought  some  pigs  at  Baiae  the  other  day," 
or,  "  What  is  land  worth  about  Lake  Avernus  ? "  or,  "  Do 
you  raise  pumpkins  at  Cumae  ?  " 

Between  Cape  Misenum  and  the  island  of  Procida  there 
is  a  strait  two  or  three  miles  in  width.  The  town  of  Pro- 
cida rests  on  the  water  like  a  long,  white  wedge,  the  butt  of 
which  bears  up  the  immense  old  fortress.  Approaching 
from  Naples,  the  whole  island  lies  before  the  loftier  Ischia 
like  Imbros  before  Samothrace,  and  seems  to  belong  to  it, 
as  ancient  geographers  declare  that  it  once  did.  The  town 
is  like  a  seaport  of  the  Grecian  Archipelago,  and,  as  seen 
from  the  water,  one  could  not  wish  it  cleaner  or  less  irreg- 
ular. Fronting  the  sea,  it  presents  a  crescent  of  tall  white 
houses,  broken  with  arched  balconies,  and  deep,  scattered 
windows,  and  stained  with  patches  of  gray  and  moss-green. 
Over  the  domed  roofs  rises  here  and  there  a  palm.  The 
castle  to  the  left,  on  its  rock,  rejoices  in  its  ancient  strength, 
and  seems  to  command  the  Bay  of  Gaeta  as  well  as  that  of 
Naples. 

I  tried  to  recall  something  of  the  history  of  Procida, 
and  struck  in  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century  on  the 
famous  Giovanni,  —  "  John  of  Procida,"  —  before  and  after 


A  TBIP  TO  ISCHIA.  869 

whom  there  was  a  blank.  The  island  once  belonged  to 
him  in  toto,  and  must  have  been  a  goodly  possession.  T 
believe  he  lost  it  for  a  time,  on  account  of  the  part  which 
he  took  in  the  Sicilian  Vespers.  Meanwhile  the  steamei 
came  to  a  stop  in  the  little  port,  and  boats  crowded  about 
the  gangways.  I  determined  to  go  the  length  of  the  island 
towards  Ischia  by  land,  and  so  scrambled  down  with  the  rest 

I  landed  on  a  narrow  quay,  so  filthy  and  malodorous  that 
T  made  haste  to  accept  the  guidance  of  the  first  boy  who 
offered  his  services.  He  led  me  into  a  street  just  as  bad ; 
but,  as  we  mounted  towards  the  castle,  the  aspect  of  the 
town  improved.  This  is  the  only  place  in  Italy  where  the 
holiday  costume  is  Greek,  and  one  might  therefore  expect 
to  find  faces  of  the  Hellenic  type  ;  yet  such  are  fewer  than 
on  Capri.  The  costume  disappears  more  and  more,  and 
only  on  grand  festas  do  the  women  appear  in  bodices  em- 
broidered with  gold,  and  gowns  edged  with  the  ancient 
labyrinth  pattern.  They  have  splendid  eyes,  like  all  the 
islanders  ;  but  I  saw  no  beauties  in  my  rapid  march  across 
Procida. 

After  the  view  from  the  castle,  there  is  really  nothing  of 
interest  in  the  little  town.  The  island  is  low  and  nearly 
level,  so  that  the  high  walls  which  inclose  the  road  shut 
out  all  view  of  its  vineyards  and  gardens.  The  eastern 
shore,  near  which  my  path  led,  is  formed  by  three  neighbor- 
ing craters,  the  rims  of  which  are  broken  down  on  the  sea- 
side, and  boats  anchor  on  the  lava  of  the  bottoms.  The 
road  was  almost  a  continuous  street,  the  suburb  of  ProciuA 
running  into  that  of  the  large  village  of  L'  Olmo.  A  crowd 
of  wayfarers  went  to  and  fro,  and  in  all  the  open  arches 
women  sat  spinning  in  the  sun.  There  were  no  beggars ; 
one  of  the  women,  indeed,  called  across  the  road  to  another, 
as  I  passed,  "  Ask  him  for  a  bajocco ! "  but  the  latter 
laughed,  and  turned  her  head  aside.  Although  so  little  of 
the  island  was  to  be  seen,  there  was  no  end  to  the  pictures 
made  by  the  windings  of  the  road,  the  walls  draped  with 
24 


370  BY-WAYS  OF    EUROPE. 

fern  and  ivy,  the  deep  arches  of  shade  with  bright,  sunlh 
court-yards  behind  them,  and  the  quaint  terraces  overhung 
with  vines. 

A  walk  of  two  miles  brought  me  to  the  western  shore? 
where  the  road  descended  to  the  fishing  hamlet  of  Chiai- 
olella.  The  place  seemed  to  be  deserted  ;  I  walked  be- 
tween the  silent  old  houses,  and  had  nearly  reached  the 
beach,  when  a  brown  old  mariner  glided  out  from  the 
shadow  of  a  buttress,  and  followed  me.  Some  boats  lay  on 
the  sand  in  the  little  land-locked  crater-bay ;  and  presently 
three  other  men,  who  had  been  sleeping  somewhere  in  the 
corners,  came  forward,  scenting  a  fee.  Of  course  they  asked 
too  much  ;  but,  to  my  surprise,  they  gradually  abated  the 
demand,  although  there  was  no  competition.  The  old  man 
said,  very  frankly,  "  If  you  give  us  a  franc  apiece,  we  shall 
only  make  ten  sous,  and  we  should  like  to  earn  a  little 
more."  We  thereupon  soon  came  to  terms  ;  two  of  them 
carried  me  into  the  boat,  and  we  set  off  for  Ischia. 

Just  beyond  the  last  point  of  Procida  rises  the  rocky 
island  of  Vivara,  which  is  nothing  but  a  fragment  left  from 
the  ruin  of  a  volcanic  crater.  Its  one  slanting  side  is 
covered  with  olive-trees,  and  a  single  house  stands  on  the 
summit.  The  landing-place  is  a  rocky  shelf  a  yard  or  so  in 
width,  only  accessible  when  the  sea  is  quite  smooth.  The 
island  belongs  to  Signor  Scotti,  of  Procida,  so  the  boatmen 
told  me,  but  he  is  too  shrewd  to  live  upon  it.  As  we  floated 
past  it  into  the  open  strait,  the  Bay  of  Gaeta  opened  broadly 
on  the  right,  stretching  away  to  the  far  Cape  of  Circe, 
beyond  Terracina.  In  front  Ischia,  grand  in  its  nearness, 
possessed  the  sea.  One  is  here  still  in  Odyssean  waters. 
Here  Homer  once  sailed,  so  sure  as  there  ever  was  a 
Homer,  and  heard  Typhoeus  groaning  under  Inarime. 
What  Kinglake  so  finely  says  of  the  Troad  is  here  equally 
true.  The  theories  of  scholars  go  to  the  winds  ;  one  learns 
to  believe  in  Homer,  no  less  than  in  Moses. 

The  picture  of  Ischia,  from  the  sea,  is  superb.     Id  front 


A  TRIP   TO   ISCfflA.  371 

towers  the  castle,  on  a  thrice  bolder  and  broader  wedge  of 

rock  than  that  of  Procida ;  withdrawn  behind  it,  as  if  for 

protection,  the  white  crescent  of  the  town  sweeps  along  the 

water ;  garden-groves  rise  in  the  rear,  then  great,  climbing 

slopes  of  vine,  and,  high  over  all,  Monte  Epomeo  converges 

the  broken  outlines  of  the  island,  and  binds  them  together 

in  his  knotted  peak.     The  main  features  are  grandly  broad 

and  simple,  yet  there  is  an  exquisite  grace  and  harmony  in 

the  minor  forms  of  the  landscape.     As  we  ran  under  the 

shadows  of  the  castle-rock,  whereon  the  Marquis  Pescara 

was  born,  my  thoughts  were  involuntarily  directed  to  two 

women,  —  his  sister,  the  heroic  Costanza,  whose  defense  of 

the  castle  gave  the  governorship  of  Ischia  to  her  family  for 

two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ;  and  his  wife,  Vittoria  Colonna. 

Her,  however,  we  remember  less  as  the  Marchesa  Pescara 

than  as  the  friend  of  Michael  Angelo,  in  whose  arms  she 

died.      Theirs  was  the  only  friendship  between  man  and 

woman,  which  the  breath  of  that  corrupt  age  did  not  dare 

to  stain,  —  noble  on  both  sides,  and  based  on  the  taste  and 

energy  and  intellect  of  both.     Vittoria,  of  whom  Ariosto 

says,  — 

"Vittoria  6  '1  nome;  e  ben  conviensi  a  nata 
Fra  le  vittorie," 

retired  to  this  castle  of  Ischia  to  mourn  her  husband's 
death.  Strange  that  her  sorrow  excites  in  us  so  Ijttle 
sympathy  ;  while,  at  this  distance  of  time,  the  picture  of 
IMichael  Angelo  after  her  death  gives  us  a  pang.  Moral,  — 
it  is  better  to  be  the  friend  of  a  great  artist  than  the  wife  of 
a  great  general. 

The  landing  at  Ischia  is  as  attractive  as  that  at  Procida 
is  repulsive.  The  town  conies  down  to  the  bright,  sunny 
quay  in  a  broad,  clean  street ;  the  houses  are  massive,  and 
suggestive  of  comfort,  and  there  are  glimpses  of  the  richest 
jardens  among  them.  "  You  must  go  to  the  locanda  nobile" 
said  the  sailors  ;  and  to  make  sure  they  went  with  me.  It 
is,  in  fact,  the  only  tolerable  inn  in  the  place  ;  yet  my  first 


372  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

impression  was  not  encouraging.  The  locanda  consisted  of 
a  large  hall,  filled  with  mattresses,  a  single  bare  bedroom, 
and  the  landlord's  private  quarters.  The  only  person  I  saw 
was  a  one-eyed  youth,  who  came  every  five  minutes,  while  1 
sat  watching  the  splendid  sunset  illumination  of  the  castle 
and  sea,  to  ask,  "  Shall  I  make  your  soup  with  rice  or  mac- 
aroni ?  "  "  Will  you  have  your  fish  fried  or  in  umido  f " 
Notwithstanding  all  this  attention,  it  was  a  most  meagre 
dinner  which  he  finally  served,  and  I  longed  for  the  flesh- 
pots  of  Capri,  In  spite  of  Murray,  artists  are  not  stoics, 
and  where  they  go  the  fare  is  wont  to  be  good.  The  Eng- 
lish guide  says,  very- complacently  :  "  Such  or  such  an  hotel 
is  third-rate,  patronized  by  artists  !  "  or,  "  The  accommoda- 
tions are  poor  ;  but  artists  may  find  them  sufficient !  "  —  as  if 
"  artists  "  had  no  finer  habits  of  palate  or  nerves  !  When  I 
contrasted  Pagano's  table  in  Capri  with  that  of  the  nobiU 
locanda  of  Ischia,  I  regretted  that  artists  had  not  been  stay, 
ing  at  the  latter. 

In  walking  through  the  two  cold  and  barren  rooms  of  the 
hotel  I  had  caught  a  glimpse,  through  an  open  door,  of  a 
man  lying  in  bed,  and  an  old  Franciscan  friar,  in  a  brown 
gaberdine,  hanging  over  him.  Now,  when  my  Lenten 
dinner  (although  it  was  Carnival)  was  finished,  the  joarfronrt 
came  to  me,  and  said :  "  Won't  you  walk  in  and  see  Don 
Michele  ?  He's  in  bed,  sick,  but  he  can  talk,  and  it  will 
pass  away  the  time  for  him." 

"  But  the  Frate  "  —  here  I  hesitated,  thinking  of  extreme 
unction. 

"  0,  never  mind  the  Frate,"  said  the  padrona  ;  "  Don 
Michele  knows  you  are  here,  and  he  wants  to  have  a  talk 
with  you." 

The  invalid  landlord  was  a  man  of  fifty,  who  lay  in  bed, 
groaning  with  a  fearful  lumbago,  as  he  informed  me.  At 
the  foot  of  the  bed  sat  the  old  friar,  gray-headed,  with  a 
snuffy  upper  lip,  and  an  expressioi  of  amiable  imbecility  on 
his  countenance.     The  one-eyed  servant  was  the  landlord's 


A  TRIP   TO  ISCtttA.  8T8 

Bon ;  and  there  were  two  little  daughters,  one  of  whom, 
Filoruena,  carried  the  other,  Maria  Teresa.  There  was 
also  a  son,  a  sailor,  absent  in  Egypt.  "Four  left  out  of 
twelve,"  said  Don  Michele ;  "  but  you  notice  there  will  soon 
be  thirteen ;  so  I  shall  have  five,  if  the  Lord  wills  it." 

"  And  so  you  are  from  America,"  he  continued  ;  "  my  son 
was  there,  but,  whether  in  North  or  South,  I  don't  know 
They  say  there  is  cholera  in  Africa,  and  I  hope  the  sainti 
will  protect  him  from  it.  Here  on  Ischia  —  as  perhaps  yoi 
don't  know  —  we  never  had  the  cholera  ;  we  have  a  saint 
who  keeps  it  away  from  the  island.  It  was  San  Giusepp* 
della  Croce,  and  nobody  can  tell  how  many  miracles  he  has 
wrought  for  us.  He  left  a  miraculous  plant,  —  it's  inside 
the  castle,  —  and  there  it  grows  to  this  day,  with  wonderful 
powers  of  healing ;  but  no  one  dares  to  touch  it.  If  you 
were  to  so  much  as  break  a  leaf,  all  Ischia  would  rise  in 
revolution.'' 

"  What  a  benefit  for  the  island ! "  I  remarked. 

'•  Ah,  you  may  well  say  that ! "  exclaimed  Don  Michele. 
"  Here  everything  is  good,  —  the  fish,  the  wine,  the  people. 
There  are  no  robbers  among  us,  —  no,  indeed  !  You  may 
go  where  you  like,  and  without  fear,  as  the  Frate  will  tell 
you.  This  is  my  brother  "  (pointing  to  the  friar).  "  I  am 
affiliated  with  the  Franciscans,  and  so  he  comes  to  keep  me 
company." 

The  friar  nodded,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  smiled  in  the 
vague,  silly  way  of  a  man  who  don't  know  what  to  say. 

"  I  have  met  many  of  your  brethren  in  the  Holy  Land," 
I  said,  to  the  latter. 

''  Gran  Dio  !  you  have  been  there  ?  "  both  exclaimed. 

I  must  needs  tell  them  of  Jerusalem  and  Jericho,  of 
Nazareth  and  Tiberias  ;  but  Don  Michele  soon  came  back 
to  America.  "  You  are  one  of  the  nobility,  I  suppose  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  What !  '*  I  answered,  affecting  a  slight  indignation  j 
"don't  you  know  that  we  have  no  nobility?     All  are  eqpal 


374  BY-WAYS   OF  EIJROPE. 

before  the  law,  and  the  poorest  man  may  become  the  high- 
est ruler,  if  he  has  the  right  degree  of  intelligence."  (I  wai 
about  to  add,  and  honesty,  but  checked  myself  in  time.) 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ? "  cried  Don  Michele  to  the  friar. 
«I  call  that  a  fine  thing." 

"  Cht  bella  cosa  !  "  repeated  the  friar,  as  he  took  a  fresh 
pinch  of  snuff. 

"  What  good  is  your  nobility  ?  "  I  continued.  "  They 
monopolize  the  offices,  they  are  poor  and  proud,  and  they 
won't  work.  The  men  who  do  the  most  for  Italy  are  not 
nobles." 

"  True !  true !  listen  to  that ! "  said  Don  Michele.  "  And 
so,  in  America,  all  have  an  equal  chance  ?  " 

"  K  you  were  living  there,"  I  answered,  "  your  son,  if  he 
had  talents,  might  become  the  governor  of  a  State,  or  a 
minister  to  a  foreign  court.  Could  he  be  that  here,  what- 
ever might  be  his  intellect?" 

"  Gran  Dio  !     Che  beUa  cosa  !  "  said  the  friar. 

"  It  is  the  balance  of  Astraea  ! "  cried  Don  Michele,  for- 
getting his  lumbago,  and  sitting  up  in  bed.  I  was  rather 
astonished  at  this  classical  allusion  ;  but  it  satisfied  me  that 
I  was  not  improvidently  wasting  my  eloquence  ;  so  I  went 
on :  — 

"  What  is  a  title  ?  Is  a  man  any  the  more  a  man  for 
having  it  ?  He  may  be  a  duke  and  a  thief,  and,  if  so,  I  put 
him  far  below  an  honest  fisherman.  Are  there  titles  in 
heaven  ?  "     Here  I  turned  to  the  friar. 

"  Behold  !  A  noble  —  a  beautiful  word ! "  cried  the  Don 
again.  The  friar  lifted  his  hands  to  heaven,  shook  his  head 
in  a  melancholy  way,  and  took  another  pinch  of  snuff. 

We  were  in  a  fair  way  to  establish  the  universal  fraternal 
republic,  when  a  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  us.  It  was 
Don  Michele's  sister,  accompanied  by  an  old  man,  and  a 
young  one,  with  a  handsome  but  taciturn  face. 

"  Ah,  here  is  my  Jigliuccio  !  "  said  Don  Michele,  beckon- 
ing forward  the  latter.     "  He  will  furnish  a  donkey,  and 


A  TRIP  TO  iscmA.  876 

guide  you  all  over  Ischia  —  up  to  the  top  of  Epomeo,  to 
Fori',  and  Casamich'." 

Now  I  had  particular!}'  requested  a  young  and  jovial 
fellow,  not  one  of  your  silent  guides,  who  always  hurry  you 
forward  when  you  want  to  pause,  and  seem  to  consider  you 
as  a  bad  job,  to  be  gotten  rid  of  as  soon  as  possible.  Gio 
vanni's  was  not  the  face  I  desired,  but  Don  Michele  in 
sisted  stoutly  that  he  was  the  very  man  for  me ;  and  so  the 
arrangement  was  concluded. 

I  went  to  bed,  feeling  more  like  a  guest  of  the  family 
than  a  stranger ;  and,  before  sleeping,  determined  that  I 
would  make  an  experiment.  The  rule  in  Italy  is,  that  the 
man  who  does  not  bargain  in  advance  is  inevitably  cheated ; 
here,  however,  it  seemed  that  I  had  stumbled  on  an  unso- 
phisticated region.  I  would  make  no  bargains,  ask  no  mis- 
trustful questions,  and  test  the  natural  honesty  of  the 
people. 

Mounted  on  the  ass,  and  accompanied  by  Giovanni,  I  left 
the  locanda  nobile  the  next  morning  to  make  the  tour  of  the 
island.  "  Be  sure  and  show  him  everything  and  tell  him 
everything ! "  cried  Don  Michele,  from  his  bed ;  whereat 
Giovanni,  with  a  short  "  Yes  !  "  which  promised  nothing  to 
my  ear,  led  the  way  out  of  the  town. 

We  ascended  the  low  hill  on  which  the  town  is  built, 
under  high  garden  walls,  overhung  by  the  most  luxuriant 
foliage  of  orange  and  olive.  There  were  fine  cypresses, — 
a  tree  rare  in  Southern  Italy,  —  and  occasional  palms.  We 
very  soon  emerged  into  the  country,  where  Epomeo 
towered  darkly  above  us,  in  the  shadow  of  clouds  which 
the  sirocco  had  blown  from  the  sea.  The  road  was  not 
blinded  by  walls,  as  on  Procida,  but  open  and  broad,  wind- 
ing forward  between  vineyards  of  astonishing  growth. 
Here  the  threefold  crops  raised  on  the  same  soil,  about 
Naples  and  Sorrento,  would  be  impo  isible.  In  that  rich 
volcanic  earth  wheat  is  only  the  parterre  or  ground-floor  of 
tultivation.     The  thin  shade  of  the  olive,  or  the  young 


876  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

loaves  of  vine,  do  not  intercept  sun  enough  to  hinder  Hi 
proper  maturity ;  and  thus  oil  or  wine  (or  sometimes  both) 
becomes  a  higher  crop,  a  bel  etage ;  while  the  umbrella' 
pines,  towering  far  above  all,  constitute  an  upper  story  for 
the  production  of  lumber  and  firewood.  Ischia  has  the 
sanie  soil,  but  the  vine,  on  account  of  the  superior  quality 
of  its  juice,  is  suffered  to  monopolize  it.  Stems  of  the 
thickness  of  a  man  s  leg  are  trained  back  and  forth  on 
poles  thirty  feet  high.  The  usual  evergreen  growths  of 
this  region,  which  make  a  mimicry  of  summer,  have  no 
place  here ;  far  and  wide,  high  and  low,  the  landscape  is 
gray  with  vines  and  poles.  I  can  only  guess  what  a  Bac- 
chic labyrinth  it  nmst  be  in  the  season  of  vintage. 

The  few  trees  allowed  to  stand  were  generally  fig  or 
walnut.  There  are  no  orange-groves,  as  about  Sorrento, 
for  the  reason  that  the  wine  of  Ischia,  being  specially  im- 
ported to  mix  with  and  give  fire  and  temper  to  other 
Italian  wines,  is  a  very  profitable  production.  The  little 
island  has  a  population  of  about  thirty  thousand,  very  few 
of  whom  are  poor,  like  the  inhabitants  of  Capri.  During 
my  trip  I  encountered  but  a  single  beggar,  who  was  an  old 
wtinan  on  crutches.  Yet,  although  the  fields  were  gray, 
the  banks  beside  the  road  were  bright  with  young  grass, 
and  gay  with  violets,  anemones,  and  the  golden  blossoms 
of  the  broom. 

On  our  left  lay  the  long  slopes  of  Mon^e  Campagnano, 
which  presents  a  rocky  front  to  the  sea.  Between  this 
mountam  and  Epomeo  the  road  traversed  a  circular  valley, 
nearly  a  mile  in  diameter,  as  superbly  rich  as  any  of  the 
favored  gardens  of  Syria.  The  aqueduct  which  brings 
water  from  the  mountains  to  the  town  of  Ischia  crosses  it 
on  lofty  stone  arches.  Beyond  this  valley,  the  path  entered 
a  singular  winding  ravine  thirty  or  forty  feet  in  depth,  and 
barely  wide  enough  for  two  asses  to  pass  each  other.  Its 
walls  of  rock  were  completely  hidden  in  mosses  and  ferns, 
and  old   oak-trees,  with    ivied   trunks,  threw   their   anni 


A   TRIP   TO  ISCHTA.  377 

acj-oss  it.  The  country  people,  in  scarlet  caps  and  velvet 
jackets,  on  their  way  to  enjoy  the  festa  (the  Carnival)  at 
the  villages,  greeted  me  with  a  friendly  "  huon  dt!"  I  was 
constantly  reminded  of  those  exquisitely  picturesque  passe." 
of  Arcadia,  which  seem  still  to  be  the  haunts  of  Pan  and 
the  Nymphs. 

Bishop  Berkeley,  who.se  happiest  summer  (not  even  ex- 
cepting that  he  passed  at  Newport)  was  spent  on  Ischia, 
must  have  frequently  travelled  that  path ;  and,  without 
having  seen  more  of  the  island,  I  was  quite  willing  to  ac- 
cept his  eulogies  of  its  scenery.  I  had  some  difficulty, 
however,  in  adjusting  to  the  reality  Jean  Paul's  imaginary 
description,  which  it  is  conventional  to  praise,  in  Germany. 
The  mere  enumeration  of  orange-trees,  olives,  rocks,  chest- 
nut woods,  vines,  and  blue  sea,  blended  into  a  glimmering 
whole,  witfi  no  distinct  outlines,  does  not  constitute  de- 
scription of  scenery.  An  author  ventures  upon  dangerous 
ground,  when  he  attempts  to  paint  landscapes  which  he  has 
never  seen.  Jean  Paul  had  the  clairvoyant  faculty  of  the 
poet,  and  was  sometimes  able  to  "  make  out "  (to  use  Char- 
lotte Bronte's  expression)  Italian  atmospheres  and  a  tol- 
erable dreain  of  scenery  ;  but  he  would  have  described  Is- 
chia very  differently  if  he  had  ever  visited  the  island. 

Winding  on  and  upward  through  the  ravine,  I  emerged 
at  last  on  the  sunny  hillside,  whence  th^re  was  a  view  of 
the  sea  beyond  Monte  Campagnano.  A  little  further,  we 
reached  the  village  of  Barano,  on  the  southeastern  slope 
of  Epomeo  —  a  deep,  gray  gorge  below  it,  and  another  vil- 
lage beyond,  sparkling  in  the  sun.  The  people  were  con- 
gregated on  the  little  piazza,  enjoying  the  day  in  the  com- 
pletest  idleness.  The  place  was  a  picture  in  itself,  and  I 
should  have  stopped  to  sketch  it,  but  Giovanni  pointed  to 
the  clouds  which  were  hovering  over  Epomeo,  and  pre- 
dicted rain.  So  T  pushed  on  to  Moropano,  the  next  vil- 
lage, the  southern  side  of  the  island  opening  more  clearly 
and     broadly    to   view.      A    succession    of   vine-terracef 


378  BY-WAYS   OF   KUROPK. 

mounted  from  ^he  sea  to  a  height  of  two  thousand  feetj 
ceasing  only  under  the  topmost  crags.  At  intervals,  how- 
ever, the  slopes  were  divided  by  tremendous  fissures,  worn 
liundreds  of  feet  deep  through  the  ashen  soil  and  volcanit 
rock.  Wherever  a  little  platform  of  shelving  soil  had  been 
left  on  the  sides  of  the  sheer  walls,  it  was  covered  with  a 
growth  of  oaks. 

The  road  obliged  me  to  cross  the  broadest  of  these 
chasms,  and,  after  my  donkey  had  once  fallen  on  the  steep 
path  notched  along  the  rock,  I  judged  it  safest  to  climb 
the  opposite  side  on  foot.  A  short  distance  further  we 
came  to  another  fissure,  as  deep  but  much  narrower,  and 
resembling  the  cracks  produced  by  an  earthquake.  The 
rocky  walls  were  excavated  into  wine-cellars,  the  size  of 
which,  and  of  the  tuns  within,  gave  good  token^of  the  Ts- 
chiau  vintages.  Out  of  the  last  crevice  we  climbed  to  the 
village  of  Fontana,  the  highest  on  the  island.  A  review 
of  the  National  Guards  was  held  in  a  narrow  open  space 
before  the  church.  There  were  perhaps  forty  men  —  fish- 
ermen and  vine-growers  —  under  arms,  all  with  military 
caps,  although  only  half  a  dozen  had  full  uniforms.  The 
officers  fell  back  to  make  room  for  me,  and  I  passed  the 
company  slowly  in  review,  as  I  rode  by  on  the  donkey. 
The  eyes  were  "  right,"  as  I  commenced,  but  they  moved 
around  to  left,  curiously  following  me,  while  the  heads  re- 
mained straight.  Gallant-looking  fellows  they  were  never- 
theless ;  and  moreover,  it  was  pleasant  to  see  a  militia 
system  substituted  for  the  former  wholesale  conscription. 

At  the  end  of  the  piazza,  a  dry  laurel-bush  hanging  ovei 
the  door,  denoted  a  wine-shop  ;  and  Giovanni  and  I  emp- 
tied a  bottle  of  the  Fontana  vintage  before  going  further.  1 
ordered  a  dinner  to  be  ready  on  our  return  from  Epomeo, 
and  we  then  set  out  for  the  hermitage  of  San  Nicola,  on  the 
very  summit.  In  a  ravine  behind  the  village  we  met  a  man 
carrying  almost  a  stack  of  straw  on  his  head,  his  body  so 
concealed  by  it  that  the  mass  seemed  to  be  walking  upon 


A    TRIP   TO   ISCHIA.  87l» 

tts  own  feet.  It  stopped  on  approaching  us,  and  an  uniii> 
telligible  voice  issued 'from  it;  but  Giovanni  understood 
the  sounds. 

"  The  hermit  of  San  Nicola  is  sick,"  he  said ;  "  this  is  his 
brother." 

"  Then  the  hermit  is  a'one  on  the  mountain  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  he  is  now  in  Fontana.  When  he  gets  sick,  he 
comes  down,  and  his  brother  goes  up  in  his  place,  to  keep 
the  lamp  a-biirning."  / 

We  were  obliged  to  skirt  another  fissure  for  some  dis- 
tance, and  then  took  to  the  open  side  of  the  mountain, 
climbing  between  fields  where  the  diminishing  vines  strug- 
gled to  drive  back  the  mountain  gorse  and  heather.  In 
half  an  hour  the  summit  was  gained,  and  I  found  myself  in 
front  of  a  singular,  sulphur-colored  peak,  out  of  which  a 
chapel  and  various  chambers  had  been  hewn.  A  man  ap 
peared,  breathless  with  climbing  after  us,  and  proved  to  be 
the  moving  principle  of  the  straw-stack.  He  unlocked  a 
door  in  the  peak,  and  allowed  the  donkey  to  enter ;  then, 
conducting  me  by  a  passage  cut  in  the  living  rock,  he  led 
the  way  through,  out  of  the  opposite  side,  and  by  a  flight 
of  rude  steps,  around  giddy  corners,  to  a  platfbrm  about  six 
feet  square,  on  the  very  topmost  pinnacle  of  the  island, 
2,700  feet  above  the  sea. 

Epomeo  was  an  active  volcano  until  just  before  Vesuvius 
awakened,  in  a.  d.  79 ;  and  as  late  as  the  year  1302  there 
was  an  eruption  on  Ischia,  at  the  northern  base  of  the 
mountain.  But  the  summit  now  scarcely  retains  the  crater 
form.  The  ancient  sides  are  broken  in,  leaving  four  or  five 
jagged  peaks  standing  apart ;  and  these,  from  the  platform 
on  which  I  stood,  formed  a  dark,  blasted  foreground,  shaped 
like  a  star  with  irregular  rays,  between  which  I  looked  down 
and  off  on  the  island,  the  sea,  and  the  Italian  shores.  The 
clouds,  whose  presence  I  had  lamented  during  the  ascent, 
now  proved  to  be  marvelous  accessories.  Swooping  so  low 
that  their  skirts  touched  me,  they  covered  the  whole  vault 


880  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

of  heaven,  down  to  the  sea  horizon,  with  an  impenetrablfl 
veil ;  yet,  beyond  their  sphere,  the  sunshine  poured  full  upon 
ihe  water,  which  became  a  luminous  under-sky,  sending  the 
reflected  light  upward  on  the  island  landscape.  In  all  my 
experience,  I  have  never  beheld  such  a  phenomenon. 
Looking  southward,  it  was  scarcely  possible  not  to  mistake 
the  sea  for  the  sky  ;  and  this  illusion  gave  the  mountain  an 
immeasurable,  an  incredible  height.  All  the  base  of  the 
island  —  the  green  shores  and  shining  towns  visible  in 
deep  arcs  between  the  sulphury  rocks  of  the  crater  — 
basked  in  dazzling  sunshine  ;  and  the  gleam  was  so  intense 
and  golden  undtr  the  vast,  dark  roof  of  cloud,  that  I  know 
not  how  to  describe  it.  From  the  Cape  of  Circe  to  that  of 
Palinurus,  two  hundred  miles  of  the  main-land  of  Italy  were 
full  in  view.  Vesuvius  may  sweep  a  wider  horizon,  but  the 
view  from  Epomeo,  in  its  wondrous  originality,  is  far  more 
impressive. 

When  I  descended  from  the  dizzy  pinnacle,  I  found 
Giovanni  and  the  hermit's  brother  drying  their  shirts 
before  a  fire  of  brush.  The  latter,  after  receiving  a  fee  for 
his  services,  begged  for  an  additional  fee  for  St.  Nicholas. 
"  What  does  St.  Nicholas  want  with  it  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Tou 
will  buy  food  and  drink,  I  suppose,  but  the  saint  needs 
nothing."  Giovanni  turned  away  his  head,  and  I  saw  that 
he  was  laughing. 

"  O,  I  can  burn  a  lamp  for  the  saint,"  was  the  answer. 

Now,  as  St.  Nicholas  is  the  patron  of  children,  sailors, 
and  travellers,  I  might  well  have  lit  a  lamp  in  his  honor ; 
but  as  I  could  not  stay  to  see  the  oil  purchased  and  the 
lamp  lighted,  with  my  own  eyes,  I  did  not  consider  that 
there  was  sufficient  security  in  the  hermit's  brother  for 
such  an  investment. 

When  I  descended  to  Fontana  the  review  was  over,  and 
several  of  the  National  Guards  were  refreshing  themselves 
in  the  wine-shop.  The  black-bearded  host,  who  looked  like 
an  affectionate  bandit,  announced  that  he  had  cooked  a  pig'a 


A  TBIP  TO  ISGHIA.  881 

liver  for  us,  and  straight-way  prepared  a  table  in  the  shop 
beside  the  counter.  There  was  but  one  plate,  but  Giovanni, 
whc  kept  me  company,  ate  directly  from  the  dish.  I  have 
almost  a  Hebrew  horror  of  fresh  pork  ;  but  since  that  day  I 
confess  that  a  pig's  liver,  roasted  on  skewers,  and  flavored 
with  the  smoke  of  burning  myrtle,  is  not  a  dish  to  be  de- 
spised.- Eggs  and  the  good  Ischian  wine  completed  the  re- 
past ;  and  had  I  not  been  foolish  enough  to  look  at  the  host 
as  he  wiped  out  the  glasses  with  his  unwashed  fingers,  I 
should  have  enjoyed  it  the  more. 

The  other  guests  were  very  jolly,  but  I  could  comprehend 
little  of  their  jargon  when  they  spoke  to  each  other.  The 
dialect  of  Ischia  is  not  only  different  from  that  of  Capri,  but 
varies  on  different  sides  of  the  island.  Many  words  are 
identical  with  those  used  on  Sardinia  and  Majorca ;  they 
have  a  clear,  strong  ring,  which  —  barbaric  as  it  may  be  — 
I  sometimes  prefer  to  the  pure  Italian.  For  instance, 
freddo  (with  a  tender  lingering  on  the  double  d)  suggests 
to  me  only  a  bracing,  refreshing  coolness,  while  in  the 
Ischian  frett  one  feels  the  sharp  sting  of  frost.  Filicaja's 
pathetic  address  to  Italy,  — 

"  Deh  fossi  tu  men  bella,  o  almen  piii  forte  I " 

might  also  be  applied  to  the  language.  The  elision  of  the 
terminal  vowels,  which  is  almost  universal  in  this  part  of 
Italy,  roughens  the  language,  certainly,  but  gives  it  a  more 
masculine  sound. 

WHien  the  people  spoke  to  me,  they  were  more  careful  in 
the  choice  of  words,  and  so  niad^  themselves  intelligible. 
They  were  eager  to  talk  and  ask  questions,  and  after  one 
of  them  had  broken  the  ice  by  pouring  a  bottle  of  wine  into 
a  glass,  while  he  drank  from  the  latter  as  fast  as  he  poured, 
the  Captain  of  the  Guard,  with  many  apologies  for  the 
liberty,  beoged  to  know  where  I  came  from. 

"  Now  tell  nie,  if  you  please."  he  continued,  "  whethei 
your  country  is  Catholic  or  Protestant?" 


382  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

" Neither,"  said  I ;  "it  is  better  than  being  either." 

The  people  pricked  up  their  ears,  and  stared.  "  How  do 
you  mean  ?  "  some  one  presently  asked. 

"  All  religions  are  free.  Catholics  and  Protestants  have 
equal  rights  ;  and  that  is  best  of  all  —  is  it  not?" 

There  was  a  unanimous  response.  "  To  be  sure  that  is 
best  of  all !  "  they  cried  ;  "  avete  ragione.^' 

"  But,"  said  the  Captain,  after  a  while,  "  what  religion  is 
your  government  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,"  I  answered. 

'  I  don't  understand,"  said  he ;  "  surely  it  is  a  Christian 
government" 

It  was  easy  to  explain  my  meaning,  and  I  noticed  that 
the  village  magistrate,  who  had  entered  the  shop,  listened 
intently.  He  was  cautiously  quiet,  but  I  saw  that  the  idea 
of  a  separation  of  Church  and  State  was  not  distasteful  to 
the  people.  From  religion  we  turned  to  politics,  and  I  gave 
them  a  rough  sketch  of  our  republican  system.  Moreover, 
as  a  professed  friend  of  Italian  nationality,  I  endeavored  to 
sound  them  in  regard  to  their  views  of  the  present  crisis. 
This  was  more  delicate  ground ;  yet  two  or  three  spoke 
their  minds  with  tolerable  plainness,  and  with  more  judg- 
ment and  moderation  than  I  expected  to  find.  On  two 
points  all  seemed  to  be  agreed,  —  that  the  people  must  be 
educated,  and  must  have  patience. 

In  the  midst  of  the  discussion  a  mendicant  friar  appeared, 
barefooted,  and  with  a  wallet  on  his  shoulder.  He  was  a 
man  of  thirty,  of  tall  and  stately  figure,  and  with  a  singu- 
larly noble  and  refined  countenance.  He  did  not  beg,  but 
a  few  bajocchi  were  handed  to  him,  and  the  landlord  placed 
a  loaf  of  bread  on  the  counter.  As  he  was  passing  me, 
without  asking  alms,  I  gave  him  some  money,  which  he 
took  with  a  slight  bow  and  the  words,  "  Providence  will 
requite  you."  Though  so  coarsely  dressed,  he  was  not  one 
of  those  friars  who  seem  to  think  filth  necessary  to  their 
holy  character.     I  have  rarely  seen  a  man  whose  feature* 


A  TRIP  TO  iscmA.  888 

•nd  bearing  harmonized  so  ill  with  his  vocation.  He  looked 
Kke  a  born  teacher  and  leader ;  yet  he  was  a  useless  beggar. 

The  rain,  which  had  come  up  during  dinner,  now  cleared 
away,  and  I  resumed  my  journey.  Giovanni,  who  had  made 
one  or  two  desperate  efforts  at  jollity  during  the  ascent  of 
the  mountain,  w^as  remarkably  silent  after  the  conversation 
in  the  inn,  and  I  had  no  good  of  him  thenceforth.  A  mis- 
trustful Italian  is  like  a  tortoise ;  he  shuts  up  his  shell,  and 
crow-bars  can't  open  him.  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that 
Giovanni  believed,  in  his  dull  way,  in  the  temporal  power 
of  the  Pope  and  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons. 

There  were  no  more  of  the  great  volcanic  fissures  to  be 
crossed.  The  road,  made  slippery  by  the  rain,  descended 
so  rapidly  that  I  was  forced  to  walk  during  the  remainder 
of  the  day's  journey.  It  was  a  country  of  vines,  less  pic- 
turesque than  I  had  already  passed  ;  but  the  sea  and  south- 
western shore  of  the  island  were  constantly  in  view.  I  first 
reached  the  little  village  of  Serrara,  on  a  projecting  spur  of 
Epomeo  ;  then,  after  many  steep  and  rugged  descents,  came 
upon  the  rich  garden-plain  of  Panza.  Here  the  surface  of 
the  island  is  nearly  level,  the  vegetation  is  wonderfully 
luxuriant,  and  the  large  gray  farm-houses  have  a  stately 
and  commanding  air.  In  another  hour,  skirting  the  west- 
ern base  of  Epomeo.  the  towers  of  Foria,  my  destination  for 
the  night,  came  into  view.  There  were  some  signs  of  the 
Carnival  in  the  lively  streets  —  here  and  there  a  mask, 
followed  by  shouting  and  delighted  children ;  but  the 
greater  part  of  the  inhabitants  contented  themselves  with 
sitting  on  the  doorsteps  and  exchanging  jokes  with  their 
neighbors. 

The  guide-book  says  there  is  no  inn  in  Foria.  Don 
Michele,  however,  assured  me  that  Signor  Scotti  kept  a 
locanda  for  travellers,  and  I  can  testify  that  the  Don  is 
right  I  presume  it  is  "  noble,"  also,  for  the  accommoda- 
tions were  like  those  in  Ischia.  On  entering,  I  was  re- 
ceived by  a  woman,  who  threw  back   her  shoulders  and 


884  BY-WATS   OF  EUROPE, 

lifted  her  head  in  such  an  independent  way  that  T  asked, 
''  Are  you  the  padrona  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  answered,  laughing  ;  "  Tm  the  modestica  ;  but 
that  will  do  just  as  well."  (She  meant  domestica,  but  I  like 
her  rendering  of  the  word  so  well  that  I  shall  retain  it) 

"  Can  you  get  me  something  for  dinner  ?  " 

"  Let  us  see,"  said  she,  counting  upon  her  fingers  ;  "  fish, 
that's  one  ;  kid,  that's  two  ;  potatoes,  that's  three ;  and  — 
and  —  surely  there's  something  else." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  I ;  "  and  eggs  ?  " 

"  Sicuro  !  Eggs  ?  I  should  think  so.  And  so  that  will 
suit  your  Excellency  !  " 

Thereupon  the  modestica  drew  back  her  shoulders,  threw 
out  her  chest,  and,  in  a  voice  that  half  Foria  might  have 
heard,  sang  I  know  not  what  song  of  triumph  as  she  de- 
scended to  the  kitchen.  Signor  Scotti,  for  whom  a  messen- 
ger had  been  sent,  now  arrived.  He  had  but  one  eye,  and 
I  began  to  imagine  that  I  was  on  the  track  of  the  Arabian 
Prince.  After  a  few  polite  commonplaces,  I  noticed  that 
he  was  growing  uneasy,  and  said,  "  Pray,  let  me  not  keep 
you  from  the  Carnival." 

"  Thanks  to  your  Excellency,"  said  he,  rising ;  "  my  pro- 
fession calls  me,  and  wi£h  your  leave  I  will  withdraw."  I 
supposed  that  he  might  be  a  city  n)agistrate,  but  on  ques- 
tioning the  modestica,  when  she  came  to  announce  dinner, 
I  found  that  he  was  a  barber. 

I  was  conducted  into  a  bedroom,  in  the  floor  of  which  the 
modestica  opened  a  trap-door,  and  bade  me  descend  a  pre- 
cipitous flight  of  steps  into  the  kitchen.  There  the  table 
was  set,  and  I  received  my  eggs  and  fish  directly  from  the 
fire.  The  dessert  was  peculiar,  consisting  of  raw  stalks  of 
anise,  cutoff^ at  the  root,  very  tough,  and  with  a  sickly  sweet 
flavor.  Seeing  that  I  rejected  them,  the  modestica  ex- 
claimed, in  a  strident  voice,  — 

"Eh?  What  would  you  have?  They  are  beautiful, — 
they  are  superb  !     The  gentry  eat  them,  —  nay,  what  do  ] 


A    TRIP    TO   ISCHIA.  S8fi 

know  ?  —  the  King  himself,  and  the  Pope  !  Behold  ! " 
And  vvrith  these  words  she  snatched  a  stalk  from  the  plate, 
and  crunched  it  between  two  rows  of  teeth  which  it  was 
a  satisfaction  to  see. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  as  I  was  in  the  bedroom  which 
had  been  given  to  my  use,  a  horribly  rough  voice  at  my  back 
exclaimed,  *  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

I  turned,  and  beheld  an  old  woman  as  broad  as  she  was 
short,  —  a  woman  with  fierce  eyes  and  a  gray  mustache  on 
her  upper  lip. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  I  rejoined. 

She  measured  me  from  head  to  foot,  gave  a  grunt,  and 
said,  "  I'm  the  padrona  here." 

I  was  a  little  surprised  at  this  intrusion,  and  considerably 
more  so,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  as  I  sat  smoking  in  the 
common  room,  at  the  visit  of  a  gendarme,  who  demanded 
my  passport.  After  explaining  to  him  that  the  document 
had  never  before  been  required  in  free  Italy,  —  that  the  law 
did  not  even  oblige  me  to  carry  it  with  me,  —  I  handed  it  to 
him. 

He  turned  it  up  and  down,  and  from  side  to  side,  with  a 
puzzled  air.     "  I  can't  read  it,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  Of  course  you  can't,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  there  is  no  better 
passport  in  the  world,  and  the  Governor  of  Naples  will  tell 
fou  the  same  thing.  Now,"  I  added,  turning  to  the  padrona, 
"  if  you  have  sent  for  this  officer  through  any  suspicion  of 
me,  I  will  pay  for  my  dinner  and  go  on  to  Casamicciola, 
where  they  know  how  to  receive  travellers." 

The  old  woman  lifted  up  her  hands,  and  called  on  the 
saints  to  witness  that  she  did  not  mistrust  me.  The  gen- 
darme apologized  for  his  intrusion,  adding  :  "  We  are  out 
of  the  way,  here,  and  therefore  I  am  commanded  to  do  this 
duty.  I  cannot  read  your  passport,  but  I  can  see  that  you 
are  a  galantuomo." 

This  compliment  obliged  me  to  give  him  a  cigar,  after 
which  ]  felt  justified  in  taking  a  little  revenge.  "I  am  n 
25 


386  BY-WAYS   OF  ETJKOPK 

republican,"  I  cried,  "  and  a  friend  of  the  Italian  Republi 
cans  !  I  don't  believe  in  the  temporal  power  of  the  Pope 
I  esteem  Garibaldi ! " 

"  Who  doesn't  esteem  him  ?  "  said  the  old  woman,  but 
with  an  expression  as  if  she  didn't  mean  it.  The  gendarme 
twisted  uneasily  on  his  seat,  but  he  had  lighted  my  cigar, 
ind  did  not  feel  free  to  leave. 

I  shall  not  here  repeat  my  oration,  which  spared  neither 
the  Pope,  nor  Napoleon  the  Third,  nor  even  Victor  Kman- 
uel.  I  was  as  fierce  and  reckless  as  Mazzini,  and  exhausted 
my  stock  of  Italian  in  advocating  freedom,  education,  the 
overthrow  of  priestly  rule,  and  the  abolition  of  the  nobility. 
When  I  stopped  to  take  breath,  the  gendarme  made  his 
escape,  and  the  padrona's  subdued  manner  showed  that  she 
began  to  be  afraid  of  me. 

In  the  evening  there  was  quite  an  assemblage  in  the 
room,  —  two  Neapolitan  engineers,  a  spruce  young  Forian, 
a  widow  with  an  unintelligible  story  of  grievances,  and  the 
never-failing  modestica,  who  took  her  seat  on  the  sofa,  and 
made  her  tongue  heard  whenever  there  was  a  pause.  I  grew 
so  tired  with  striving  to  unravel  their  dialect,  that  I  fell 
asleep  in  my  chair,  and  ^nearly  tumbled  into  the  brazier  of 
coals  ;  but  the  chatter  went  on  for  hours  after  I  was  in  bed. 

In  the  heavenly  morning  that  followed  I  walked  about  the 
town,  which  is  a  shipping  port  of  wine.  The  quay  was  piled 
with  tuns,  purple-stained.  The  situation  of  the  place,  at  the 
foot  of  Epomeo,  with  all  the  broad  Tyrrhene  sea  to  the  west- 
ward, is  very  beautiful,  and,  as  usual,  a  Franciscan  monas- 
tery has  usurped  the  finest  position.  No  gardens  can  be 
richer  than  those  in  the  rear,  mingling  with  the  vineyards 
that  rise  high  on  the  mountain  slopes. 

After  the  modestica  had  given  me  half  a  tumbler  of  coffee 
and  a  crust  of  bread  for  my  breakfast,  I  mounted  the  donkej, 
and  set  out  for  Casamicciola.  The  road  skirts  the  sea  for  » 
short  distance,  and  then  enters  a  wild  dell,  where  I  saw 
clumps  of  ilex  for  the  first  time  on  the  island.    After  a  mile 


A   TRIP   TO  ISCfllA.  381 

of  rugged,  but  very  beautiful,  scenery,  the  dell  opened  or 
the  northern  shore  of  Ischia,  and  I  saw  the  bright  towr. 
and  sunny  beach  of  Lacco  below  me.  There  was  a  sudden 
and  surprising  change  in  the  character  of  the  landscape. 
Dark,  graceful  carob-trees  overhung  the  road ;  the  near 
gardens  were  filled  with  almonds  in  light  green  leaf,  and 
orange-trees  covered  with  milky  buds  ;  but  over  them,  afar 
and  aloft,  froni  the  edge  of  the  glittering  sapphire  to  the 
sulphur-crags  of  the  crowning  peak,  swept  a  broad,  grand 
amphitheatre  of  \illas,  orchards,  and  vineyards.  Gayly 
colored  palaces  sat  on  all  the  projecting  spurs  of  Epomeo, 
rising  above  their  piles  of  garden  terraces  ;  and,  as  I  rode 
along  the  beach,  the  palms  and  cypresses  in  the  gardens 
above  me  were  exquisitely  pencilled  on  the  sky.  Here 
everything  spoke  of  old  cultivation,  of  wealth  and  luxurious 
days. 

In  the  main  street  of  Lacco  I  met  the  gendarme  of 
Foria,  who  took  off  his  cocked  hat  with  an  air  of  respect, 
which,  however,  produced  no  effect  on  my  donkey-man 
Giovanni.  We  mounted  silently  to  Casamicciola,  which, 
as  a  noted  watering-place,  boasts  of  hotels  with  Neapolitan 
prices,  if  not  comforts.  I  felt  the  need  of  one,  and  selected 
the  Sentinella  Grande  on  account  of  its  lordly  position.  It 
was  void  of  guests,  and  I  was  obliged  to  wait  two  hours  for 
a  moderate  breakfast.  The  splendor  of  the  day,  the  per- 
fect beauty  of  the  Ischian  landscapes,  and  the  soft  hum- 
ming of  bees  around  the  wall-flower  blossoms,  restored  my 
lost  power  to  enjoy  the  dolce  far  niente,  and  I  had  forgotten 
all  about  my  breakfast  when  it  was  announced. 

From  Casamicciola  it  is  little  more  than  an  hour's  ride 
to  Ischia,  and  my  tour  of  the  island  lacked  but  that  much 
of  completion.  The  season  had  not  commenced,  and  the 
marvelous  healing  fountains  and  baths  were  deserted  ;  yet 
the  array  of  stately  villas,  the  luxury  of  the  gardens,  and 
the  broad,  well-made  roads,  attested  the  popularity  of  the 
watering-place.     Such  scenery  as  surrounds  it  is  not  sur- 


888  BY-«rAYS   OF  EUBOPE. 

passed  by  any  on  the  Bay  of  Naples.  T  looked  longingly 
up  at  the  sunny  mountain-slopes  and  shadowed  glens,  as  I 
rode  away.  What  I  had  seen  was  but  the  promise,  the 
hint,  of  a  thousand  charms  which  I  had  left  unvisited. 

On  the  way  to  Ischia  I  passed  the  harbor,  which  is  a 
deep  little  crater  connected  with  the  sea  by  an  artificial 
channel.  Beside  it  lies  the  Casino  Reale,  with  a  magnifi- 
cent park,  uninhabited  since  the  Bourbons  left.  Beyond 
it  I  crossed  the  lava-fields  of  1302,  which  are  still  unsub- 
dued. Here  and  there  a  house  has  been  built,  some  pines 
have  been  planted,  clumps  of  broom  have  taken  root,  and 
there  are  a  few  rough,  almost  hopeless,  beginnings  of  fields. 
Having  passed  this  dreary  tract,  the  castle  of  Ischia  sud- 
denly rose  in  front,  and  the  bright  town  received  me.  I 
parted  from  the  taciturn  Giovanni  without  tears,  and  was 
most  cordially  welcomed  hy  Don  Michele,  his  wife,  the  one- 
eyed  son,  and  the  Franciscan  friar.  The  Don's  lumbago 
was  not  much  better,  and  the  friar's  upper  lip,  it  seemed  to 
me,  was  more  snuffy  than  ever. 

In  the  evening  I  heard  what  appeared  to  be  a  furious 
altercation.  I  recognized  Don  Michele's  voice,  threaten- 
ing vengeance,  at  its  highest  pitch,  while  another  voice, 
equally  excited,  and  the  screams  of  women,  gave  additional 
breath  to  the  tempest.  But  when  I  asked  my  one-eyed 
servitor,  "  What  in  Heaven's  name  has  happened  ? "  he 
mildly  answered,  "  O,  it's  only  the  uncle  discoursing  with 
papa ! " 

I  arose  at  dawn,  the  next  day,  to  take  the  steamer  for 
Naples.  The  flaming  jets  of  Vesuvius,  even  against  the 
glowing  morning  sky,  were  visible  from  my  window,  twenty- 
five  miles  distant.  I  was  preparing  to  bid  farewell  to 
Ischia  with  a  feeling  of  profund  satisfaction.  My  experi- 
ment had  succeeded  remarkably  well.  I  had  made  no 
bargains  in  advance,  and  had  not  been  overcharged  to  the 
extent  of  more  than  five  francs  during  the  whole  trip. 
But  now  came  the  one-eyed  son,  with  a  bill  fifty  per  («nt 


i  TRIP  TO  iscmA.  88fl 

liighef  than  at  first,  for  exactly  the  same  accommodation. 
This,  too,  after  I  had  promised  to  send  my  friends  to  the 
locanda  nobtle,  and  he  had  written  some  very  grotesque 
cards,  which  I  was  to  disseminate. 

Don  Michele  was  calling  me  to  say  good-by.  I  went  to 
his  chamber,  and  laid  the  grotesque  cards  upon  the  bed. 
"  Here  !  "  I  exclaimed  ;  "  I  have  no  use  for  these.  I  shall 
recommend  no  friends  of  mine  to  this  hotel.  You  ask 
another  price  now  for  the  same  service." 

The  Don's  countenance  fell.  "  But  we  kept  the  same 
room  for  you,"  he  feebly  urged. 

"  Of  course  you  kept  it,"  I  said,  "because  you  have  no 
other,  and  nobody  came  to  take  it !  This  is  not  the  bal- 
ance of  Astraea !  You  lament  over  the  condition  of  Italy, 
—  you  say  she  has  fallen  behind  the  other  nations  of 
Europe,  —  and  here  is  one  of  the  causes !  So  long  as  you, 
and  the  people  of  whom  you  are  one,  are  dishonest,  —  so 
long  as  you  take  advantage  of  strangers, — just  so  long  will 
you  lack  the  order,  the  security,  the  moral  force  which 
every  people  possess  who  are  ashamed  to  descend  to  such 
petty  arts  of  cheating  ! " 

"  Ma  —  Signore  !  "  pleaded  Don  Michele. 

''  It  is  true  !  "  I  continued  ;  "  I,  who  am  a  friend  of  Italy, 
say  it  to  you.  You  talk  of  corruption  in  high  places,  — 
begin  your  reforms  at  home  !  Learn  to  practice  common 
honesty;  teach  your  children  to  doit;  respect  yourselves 
sufficiently  to  be  above  such  meanness,  and  others  will  re- 
spect you.  What  were  my  fine,  my  beautiful  words  worth 
to  you  ?    1  thought  I  was  sowing  seed  on  good  ground  "  — 

"  Signore,  Signore,  hear  me  !  "  cried  the  Don. 

"  I  have  only  one  word  more  to  say,  and  that  is  Addio 
and  not  a  rivederci  I     I  am  going,  and  I  shall  not  comi 
back  again." 

Don  Michele  jumped  up  in  bed,  but  I  was  already  at  the 
door.  I  threw  it  open,  closed  it  behind  me,  and  dashed 
down  the  stairs.     A  faint  cry  of  "  Signore  !  "  followed  me- 


390  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

In  two  minutes  more  I  was  on  the  pier,  waiting  fot  *ht 
steamer  to  come  around  the  point  from  Casamicciola.  The 
sweet  morning  air  cooled  my  excitement,  and  disposed  me 
to  gentler  thoughts.  I  fancied  Don  Michele  in  his  bed, 
mortified  and  repentant,  and  almost  regretted  that  I  bad 
not  given  him  a  last  chance  to  right  himself  in  my  eyes. 
Moreover,  reviewing  the  incidents  of  my  trip,  I  was  amused 
at  the  part  which  I  had  played  in  it.  Without  the  least 
intent  or  premeditation,  I  had  assumed  the  character  of  a 
missionary  of  religious  freedom,  education,  and  the  Univer- 
sal Republic.  But  does  the  reader  suppose  that  I  imagine 
any  word  thus  uttered  will  take  root,  and  bring  forth  fruit, 
—  that  any  idea  thus  accidentally  planted  will  propagate 
Itself  further  ? 

No,  indeed  I 


THE  LAND  OF  PAOLL 


The  Leghorn  steamer  slid  smoothly  over  the  glassy  T/r 
rhene  strait,  and  sometime  during  the  nigl.t  came  to  an- 
chor in  the  harbor  of  Bastia.  I  sat  up  in  my  berth  at  sun- 
rise,  and  looked  out  of  the  bull's  eye  to  catch  my  first  near 
glimpse  of  Corsican  scenery  ;  but,  instead  of  that,  a  pair 
of  questioning  eyes,  set  in  a  brown,  weather-beaten  face, 
met  my  own.  It  was  a  boatman  waiting  on  the  gangway, 
determined  to  secure  the  only  fare  which  the  steamer  had 
brought  that  morning.  Such  persistence  always  succeeds, 
and  in  this  rase  justly  ;  for  when  we  were  landed  upon  the 
quay,  shortly  afterwards,  the  man  took  the  proffered  coin 
with  thanks,  and  asked  for  no  more. 

Tall,  massive  houses  surrounded  the  little  circular  port 
An  old  bastion  on  the  left,  —  perhaps  that  from  which  the- 
place  originally  took  its  name,  —  a  church  iv  front,  and 
suburban  villas  and  gardens  on  the  shoulders  of  the  steep 
mountain  in  the  rear,  made  a  certain  impression  of  pride 
and  stateliness,  notwithstanding  the  cramped  situation  of 
the  city.  The  Corsican  coast  is  here  very  bold  and  abrupt, 
and  the  first  advantage  of  defense  interferes  with  the  pres- 
ent necessity  of  growth. 

At  that  early  hour  few  persons  were  stirring  in  the 
streets.  A  languid  officer  permitted  us  to  pass  the  douane 
and  sanitary  line ;  a  large-limbed  boy  from  the  mountains 
becanie  a  porter  for  the  nonce  ;  and  a  waiter,  not  full) 
awake,  admitted  us  into  the  '^'  Hotel  d'Europe,"  a  building 
with  more  space  than  cleanliness,  more  antiquated  furni- 
ture than  comfort.  It  resembled  a  dismantled  palace  — 
huge,  echoing,  dusty.  The  only  tenants  we  saw  then,  or 
later,  were  the  waiter  aforesaid,  who  had  not  yet  learned 


394  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

the  ordinary  wants  of  a  traveller,  and  a  hideous  old  woman, 
who  twice  a  day  deposited  certain  oily  and  indescribable 
dishes  upon  a  table  in  a  room  which  deserved  the  name  of 
manger,  iia  the  English  sense  of  the  word . 

However,  I  did  not  propose  to  remain  long  in  Bastia. 
Corte,  the  old  capital  of  Paoli,  in  the  heart  of  the  island, 
was  my  destination.  After  ascertaining  that  a  diligence 
left  for  the  latter  place  at  noon,  we  devoted  an  hour  or  two 
to  Bastia.  The  breadth  and  grandeur  of  the  principal 
streets,  the  spacious  new  place  with  a  statue  of  Napoleon 
in  a  Roman  toga,  the  ample  harbor  in  process  of  con- 
struction to  the  northward,  and  the  fine  coast-views  from 
the  upper  part  of  the  city,  were  matters  of  surprise.  The 
place  has  grown  rapidly  within  the  past  fifteen  years,  and 
now  contains  twenty-five  thousand  inhabitants.  Its  geo- 
graphical situation  is  good.  The  dagger-shaped  Cape 
Corso,  rich  with  fruit  and  vines,  extends  forty  miles  to  the 
northward  ;  westward,  beyond  the  mountains,  lie  the  fortu- 
nate lands  of  Nebbio  and  the  Balagna,  while  the  coast 
southward  has  no  other  harbor  for  a  distance  of  seventy 
»r  eighty  miles.  The  rocky  island  of  Capraja,  once  a 
menace  of  the  Genoese,  rises  over  the  sea  in  the  direction 
of  Leghorn  ;  directly  eastward,  and  nearer,  is  Elba,  and 
far  to  the  southeast,  faintly  seen,  Monte  Cristo,  —  the  three 
representing  mediaeval  and  modern  history  and  romance, 
and  repeating  the  triple  interest  which  clings  around  the 
name  of  Corsica. 

The  growth  of  Bastia  seems  to  have  produced  but  little 
effect,  us  yet,  on  the  character  of  the  inhabitants.  Thej 
have  rather  the  primitive  air  of  mountaineers  ;  one  looks 
in  vain  for  the  keenness,  sharpness,  and,  alas  !  the  dishon- 
esty, of  an  Italian  seaport  town.  Since  the  time  of  Seneca, 
who,  soured  by  exile,  reported  of  them,  — 

'*  Prima  est  ulcisci  lex,  altera  vivere  rapto, 
Tertia  ment'  n,  quarta  negare  Deos, "  -- 

the  Corsicans  have  no*  been  held  in  good  repute.     Yet  oui 


THE  LAND   OF   PAOLI.  896 

first  experience  of  them  was  by  no  means  unprepossessiag 
We  entered  a  bookstore,  to  get  a  map  of  the  island 
While  I  was  examining  it,  an  old  gentleman,  with  the  Le 
gion  of  Honor  in  his  button-hole,  rose  from  his  seat,  took 
the  sheet  from  my  hands,  and  said  :  "  What's  this  ?  what's 
this?"  After  satisfying  his  curiosity,  he  handed  it  back  to 
me,  and  began  a  rimning  fire  of  questions :  "  Your  first 
visit  to  Corsica  ?  You  are  English  ?  Do  you  speak  Italian  : 
your  wife  also  ?  Do  you  like  Bastia  ?  does  she  also  ?  How 
long  will  you  stay  ?  Will  she  accompany  you  ?  "  etc.  I  an- 
swered with  equal  rapidity,  as  there  was  nothing  obtrusive 
in  the  old  man's  manner.  The  questions  soon  came  to  ao 
end,  and  then  followed  a  chapter  of  information  and  advice, 
which  was  very  welcome. 

The  same  naive  curiosity  met  us  at  every  turn.  Even 
the  rough  boy  who  acted  as  porter  plied  me  with  questions, 
yet  was  just  as  ready  to  answer  as  to  ask.  I  learned  much 
more  about  his  situation  and  prospects  than  was  really  nec- 
essary, but  the  sum  of  all  showed  that  he  was  a  fellow 
determined  to  push  his  way  in  the  world.  Self-confidence 
is  a  common  Corsican  trait,  which  Napoleon  only  shared 
with  his  fellow-islanders.  The  other  men  of  his  time  who 
were  either  born  upon  Corsica  or  lived  there  for  a  while  — 
Pozzo  di  Borgo,  Bernadotte,  Massena,  Murat,  Sebastiani  — 
seem  to  have  caught  the  infection  of  this  energetic,  self- 
reliant  spirit. 

In  Bastia  there  is  neither  art  nor  architecture.  It  is  a 
well-built,  well-regulated,  bustling  place,  and  has  risen  in 
latter  years  quite  as  much  from  the  growth  of  Italian  com- 
merce as  from  the  favor  of  the  French  government.  From 
the  quantity  of  small  coasting  craft  in  the  harbor,  I  should 
judge  that  its  trade  is  principally  with  the  neighboring 
shores.  In  the  two  book-shops  I  found  many  devotional 
works  and  Renucci's  History,  but  only  one  copy  of  the 
Storiche  Corse,  which  I  was  glad  to  secure. 

When  the  hour  of  departure  came,  we  found  the  inquis 


396  BY-WAYb   OF  EUROPE. 

itive  old  gentleman  at  the  diligence  office.  Ho  was  our 
companion  in  the  coupe,  and  apparently  a  personage  of 
some  note,  as  at  least  a  score  of  friends  came  to  bid  him 
adieu.  To  each  of  these  he  announced  in  turn  :  "  These 
are  my  travelling  companions  —  an  American  gentleman 
and  his  wife.  They  speak  French  and  Italian  ;  they  have 
never  been  in  Corsica  before ;  they  are  going  to  Corte ; 
they  travel  for  pleasure  and  information."  Then  there 
were  reciprocal  salutations  and  remarks ;  and  if  the  pos- 
tilion had  not  finally  given  the  signal  to  take  our  places, 
we  should  soon  have  been  on  speaking  terms  with  half 
Bastia. 

The  road  ran  due  south,  along  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tains. As  we  passed  the  luxuriant  garden-suburbs,  our 
companion  pointed  out  the  dusky  glitter  of  the  orange- 
trees,  and  exclaimed :  "  You  see  what  the  Corsican  soil 
produces.  But  this  is  nothing  to  the  Balagna.  There 
you  will  find  the  finest  olive  culture  of  the  Mediterranean. 
I  was  prefect  of  the  Balagna  in  1836,  and  in  that  year  the 
exportation  of  oil  amounted  to  six  millions  of  francs,  while 
an  equal  quantity  was  kept  for  consumption  in  the  island." 

Brown  old  villages  nestled  high  up  in  the  ravines  on  our 
right ;  but  on  the  left  the  plain  stretched  far  away  to  the 
salt  lake  of  Biguglia,  the  waters  of  which  sparkled  between 
the  clumps  of  poplars  and  elms  studding  the  meadows. 
The  beds  of  the  mountain  streams  were  already  nearly 
dry,  and  the  suumier  malaria  was  beginning  to  gather  on 
the  low  fields  through  which  they  wandered.  A  few 
peasants  were  cutting  and  tedding  hay  here  and  there,  or 
lazily  hauling  it  homewards.  Many  of  the  fields  were 
given  up  to  myrtle  and  other  wild  and  fragrant  shrubs ; 
but  there  were  far  too  few  workers  abroad  for  even  the 
partial  cultivation. 

Beyond  the  lake  of  Biguglia,  and  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Golo  River,  is  the  site  of  Mariana,  founded  by  Marius. 
Except  a  scattering  of  hewn  stones,  there  are  no  remains 


THE  LAND   OF  PAOLI.  897 

of  the  Roman  town  ;  but  the  walls  of  a  churct  and  chapei 
of  the  Middle  Ages  are  still  to  be  seen.  The  only  other 
Roman  colony  on  Corsica  —  Aleria,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Tavignano  —  was  a  restoration  of  the  more  ancient  Alalia, 
which  tradition  ascribes  to  the  Phoceans.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  nearness  of  the  island  to  the  Italian  coast,  and 
its  complete  subjection  to  the  Empire,  its  resources  were 
imperfectly  developed  by  the  Romans,  and  the  accounts  of 
it  given  by  the  ancient  writers  are  few  and  contradictory. 
Strabo  says  of  the  people  :  "  Those  who  inhabit  the  moun- 
tains live  from  plunder,  and  are  more  untamable  than  wild 
beasts.  When  the  Roman  commanders  undertake  an  ex- 
pedition against  the  island,  and  possess  themselves  of  the 
strongholds,  they  bring  back  to  Rome  many  slaves  ;  and 
then  one  sees  with  astonishment  the  savage  animal  nature 
of  the  people.  For  they  either  take  their  own  lives  vio- 
lently, or  tire  out  their  masters  by  their  stubbornness  and 
stupidity  ;  whence,  no  matter  how  cheaply  they  are  pur- 
chased, it  is  always  a  bad  bargain  in  the  end." 

Here  we  have  the  key  to  that  fierce,  indomitable  spini 
of  independence  which  made  the  Genoese  occupation  one 
long  story  of  warfore  ;  which  produced  such  heroes  as 
Sambucuccio,  Sanipieri,  and  Paoli ;  and  which  exalted  Cor- 
sica, in  the  last  century,  to  be  the  embodiment  of  the  dem 
ocratic  ideas  of  flurope,  and  the  marvelous  forerunner  oi 
the  American  Republic.  Verily,  Nature  is  "  careful  of  the 
type."  After  the  Romans,  the  Vandals  possessed  Corsica  ; 
then  the  Byzantine  Greeks  ;  then,  in  succession,  the  Tuscan 
Barons,  the  Pisans,  and  the  Genoese  —  yet  scarcely  one  of 
the  political  forms  planted  among  them  took  root  in  the 
cliaracter  of  the  islanders.  The  origin  of  the  Corsican  Re-. 
public  lies  back  of  all  our  history  ;  it  was  a  natural  growth, 
which  came  to  light  after  the  suppression  of  two  thousand 
years. 

As  we  approached  the   gorge  through  which  the  Gold 
breaks  its  way  to  the  sea,  the  town  of  Borgo,  crowning  a 


B98  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

mountain  summit,  recalled  to  memory  the  last  Corsicab 
victory,  when  Clement  Paoli,  on  the  1st  of  October,  1768. 
defeated  and  drove  back  to  Bastia  a  French  force  much 
greater  than  his  own.  Clement,  the  brooding  monk  in  his 
cloister,  the  fiery  leader  of  desperate  battle,  is  even  a 
nobler  figure  than  his  brother  Pascal  in  the  story  of  those 
days. 

We  changed  horses  at  an  inn  under  the  mountain  of 
Borgo,  and  then  entered  the  valley  of  the  Golo,  leaving  the 
main  road,  which  creeps  onward  to  Bonifacio  through 
lonely  and  malarious  lands.  The  scenery  now  assumed  a 
new  aspect.  No  more  the  blue  Tyrrhene  Sea,  with  its 
dreams  of  islands  ;  a  valley  wilder  than  any  infolded 
among  the  Appenines  opened  before  us.  Slopes  covered 
with  chestnut  groves  rose  on  either  side  ;  slant  ravines 
mounted  between  steep  escarpments  of  rock  ;  a  village  or 
two,  on  the  nearer  heights,  had  the  appearance  of  refuge 
and  defense,  rather  than  of  quiet  habitation,  and  the  brown 
summits  in  the  distance  held  out  no  promise  of  softer 
scenes  beyond. 

Our  companion,  the  prefect,  pointed  to  the  chestnut 
groves.  "  There,"  said  he,  "  is  the  main  support  of  our 
people  in  the  winter.  Our  Corsican  name  for  it  is  'the 
bread  tree.'  The  nuts  are  ground,  and  the  cakes  of  chest- 
nut-flour, baked  on  the  hearth,  and  eaten  while  fresh,  are 
really  delicious.  We  could  not  live  without  the  chestnut 
and  the  olive." 

The  steep  upper  slopes  of  the  mountains  were  covered 
with  tl:  2  macchia  —  a  word  of  special  significance  on  the 
island.  It  is  equivalent  to  "jungle  "  or  "  chaparral  "  ;  but 
the  Corsican  macchia  has  a  character  and  a  use  of  its  own. 
Fancy  an  interminable  thicket  of  myrtle,  arbutus,  wild 
laurel,  lentisk,  box,  and  heather,  eight  or  twelve  feet  in 
height,  interlaced  with  powerful  and  luxuriant  vines,  and 
with  an  undergrowth  of  rosemary,  lavender,  and  sage. 
Between  the  rigid,  stubby  stems  the  wild  boar  can  scarcelj 


THE   LAND   OF   PAOLl.  399 

make  his  way ;  thorns  and  dagger-like  branches  meet 
above  —  yet  the  richest  balm  breathes  from  this  impene- 
trable wilderness.  When  the  people  say  of  a  man,  "  he 
has  taken  to  the  niacchia,"  every  one  understands  that  he 
has  committed  a  murder.  Formerly,  those  who  indulged 
in  the  fierce  luxury  of  the  vendetta  sometimes  made  their 
home  for  years  in  the  thickets,  communicating  privately, 
from  time  to  time,  with  their  families.  But  there  is  now 
no  scent  of  blood  lurking  imder  that  of  the  myrtle  and 
lavender.  Napoleon,  who  neglected  Corsica  during  his 
years  of  empire  (in  fact,  he  seemed  to  dislike  all  mention 
of  the  island),  remembered  the  odors  of  the  macchia  upon 
St.  Helena. 

Our  second  station  was  at  a  saw-mill  beside  the  river. 
Here  the  prefect  left  us,  saying :  "  I  am  going  to  La  Porta, 
in  the  country  of  Morosaglia.  It  is  a  beautiful  place, 
and  you  must  come  and  see  it.  I  have  a  ride  of  three 
hours,  on  horseback  across  the  mountains,  to  get  there." 

His  place  in  the  coupe  was  taken  by  a  young  physician 
bound  for  Pontenuovo,  further  up  the  valley.  I  was  struck 
by  the  singular  loneliness  of  the  country,  as  we  advanced 
further  into  the  interior.  Neither  in  the  grain-fields  be- 
low, nor  the  olive-orchards  above,  was  any  laborer  to  be 
seen.  Mile  after  mile  passed  by,  and  the  diligence  was 
alone  on  the  highway.  "  The  valley  of  the  Golo  is  so  un- 
healthy," said  the  physician,  "  that  the  people  only  come 
down  to  their  fields  at  the  time  for  ploughing,  sowing,  and 
reaping.  If  a  man  from  the  mountains  spends  a  single 
night  below  here,  he  is  likely  to  have  an  attack  of  fever." 

"  But  the  Golo  is  a  rapid  mountain  stream,"  I  remarked ; 
"  there  are  no  marshes  in  the  valley,  and  the  air  seems  to 
me  pure  and  bracing.  Would  not  the  country  become 
healthy  through  more  thorough  cultivation  ?  " 

"  I  can  only  explain  it,"  he  answered,  "  by  the  constant 
variation  of  temperature.  During  the  day  there  is  a  close 
heat,  such  as  we  feel  now,  while  at  night  the  air  becomef 


400  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

suddenly  chill  and  damp.  As  to  agriculture,  it  don't  seem 
to  be  the  natural  business  of  the  Corsican.  He  will  range 
the  mountains  all  day,  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  but  he 
hates  work  in  the  fields.  Most  of  the  harvesting  on  the 
eastern  coast  of  the  island,  and  in  the  Balagna,  is  done  by 
the  Lucchese  peasants,  who  come  over  from  the  main- 
land every  year.  "Were  it  not  for  them,  the  grain  would 
rot  where  it  stands." 

This  man's  statement  may  have  been  exaggerated,  but 
further  observation  convinced  me  that  there  was  truth  in 
it.  Yet  the  people  are  naturally  active  and  of  a  lively 
temperament,  and  their  repugnance  to  labor  is  only  one 
of  the  many  consequences  of  the  vendetta.  When  Paoli 
suppressed  the  custom  with  an  iron  hand,  industry  revived 
in  Corsica  ;  and  now  that  the  French  government  has  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  the  same  thing,  the  waste  and  pestilent 
lands  will  no  doubt  be  gradually  reclaimed. 

The  annals  of  the  Corsican  vendetta  are  truly  something 
terrible.  Filippini  (arm.ed  to  the  teeth  and  protected  by  a 
stone  wall,  as  he  wrote)  and  other  native  historians  esti- 
mate the  number  of  murders  from  revenge  in  the  three 
and  a  half  centuries  preceding  the  year  1729  at  three 
hundred  and  thirty-three  ^thousand,  and  the  number  of 
persons  wounded  in  family  feuds  at  an  equal  figure  I 
Three  times  the  population  of  the  island  killed  or  wounded 
in  three  hundred  and  fifty  years  !  Gregorovius  says  :  "  If 
this  island  of  Corsica  could  vomit  back  all  the  blood  of 
battle  and  vendetta  which  it  has  drunk  during  the  past 
ages,  its  cities  and  towns  would  be  overwhelmed,  its  popula- 
tion drowned,  and  the  sea  be  incarnadined  as  far  as  Genoa. 
Verily,  here  the  red  Death  planted  his  kingdom."  France 
has  at  last,  by  two  simple,  practical  measures,  stayed  the 
deluge.  First,  the  population  was  disarmed ;  then  the 
bandits  and  blood-outlaws  were  formed  into  a  body  of 
Vohigeurs  Corses,  who,  knowing  all  the  hiding-places  in 
the  macchia,  easily  track  the  fugitives.     A  few  executions 


THE  LAND   OF  PAOLI.  401 

tamed  the  thirst  for  blood,  and  within  the  past  ten  ;ean 
the  vendetta  has  ceased  to  exist. 

While  we  were  discussing  these  matters  with  the  physi- 
cian, the  diligence  rolled  steadily  onwards,  up  the  valley  of 
the  Golo.  With  every  mile  the  scenery  became  wilder, 
browner,  and  more  lonely.  There  were  no  longer  villages 
on  the  hill-summits,  and  the  few  farm-houses  perched  be- 
side the  chestnut-orchards  appeared  to  be  untenanted.  As 
the  road  crossed  by  a  lofty  stone  arch  to  the  southern  bank 
of  the  river,  the  physician  said :  "  This  is  Pontenuovo,  and  it 
is  just  a  hundred  years  to-day  since  the  battle  was  fought." 
He  was  mistaken  ;  the  battle  of  Pontenuovo,  fatal  to  Paoli 
and  to  the  independence  of  Corsica,  took  place  on  the  9th 
of  May,  1769.  It  was  the  end  of  a  struggle  all  the  more 
heroic  because  it  was  hopeless  from  the  start.  The  stony 
slopes  on  either  side  of  the  bridge  are  holy  ground  ;  for 
the  Corsicans  did  not  fight  in  vain.  A  stronger  people 
beyond  the  sea  took  up  the  torch  as  it  fell  from  their 
hands,  and  fed  it  with  fresh  oil.  History  (as  it  has  hith- 
erto been  written)  deals  only  with  events,  not  with  popular 
sympathies  and  enthusiasms  ;  and  we  can  therefore  scarcely 
guess  how  profoundly  the  heart  of  the  world  was  stirred  by 
the  name  of  Corsica,  between  the  years  1755  and  1769. 
To  Catharine  of  Russia  as  to  Rousseau,  to  Alfieri  as  to  Dr. 
Johnson,  Paoli  was  one  of  the  heroes  of  the  century. 

Beyond  Pontenuovo  the  valley  widens,  and  a  level  road 
carried  us  speedily  to  Ponte  alia  Leccia,  at  the  junction  of 
ihe  Golo  with  its  principal  affluent,  the  Tartaglia.  Ponte' 
lech  and  Tartatch  are  the  Corsican  words.  Here  the  scen- 
ery assumes  a  grand  Alpine  character.  High  over  the 
nearer  mountains  rose  the  broken  summits  of  Monte 
Padro  and  Capo  Bianco,  the  snow-filled  ravines  glittering 
between  theii  dark  pinnacles  of  rock.  On  the  south,  a  by- 
road wandered  away  through  the  chestnut-woods  to  Moro- 
saglia  ;  villages  with  picturesque  belfries  overlooked  the 
valley,  and  the  savage  macchia  gave  place  to  orchards 
26 


■«02  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

of  olive.  Yet  the  character  of  the  scenery  was  sombre, 
almost  melancholy.  Though  the  myrtle  flowered  snowily 
among  the  rocks,  and  the  woodbine  hung  from  the  banks, 
and  the  river  filled  the  air  with  the  incessant  mellow 
sound  of  its  motion,  these  cheerful  features  lost  their 
wonted  effect  beside  the  sternness  and  solitude  of  the 
mountains. 

Towards  the  end  of  this  stage  the  road  left  the  Golo,  and 
ascended  a  narrow  lateral  valley  to  the  village  of  Omessa, 
where  we  changed  horses.  Still  following  the  stream  to 
its  sources,  we  reached  a  spur  from  the  central  chain,  and 
slowly  climbed  its  sides  to  a  higher  region  —  a  land  of 
rocks  and  green  pasture-slopes,  from  the  level  of  which  a 
wide  sweep  of  mountains  was  visible.  The  summit  of 
the  pass  was  at  least  two  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.  On 
attaining  it,  a  new  and  surprising  vista  opened  to  the  south- 
ward, into  the  very  heart  of  the  island.  The  valley  before 
us  dropped  in  many  windings  into  that  of  the  Tavignano, 
the  second  river  of  Corsica,  which  we  overlooked  for  an 
extent  of  thirty  miles.  Eastward  the  mountains  sank  into 
hills  of  gentle  undulation,  robed  with  orchards  and  vine- 
yards, and  crowned  with  villages ;  westward  they  towered 
into  dark,  forbidding  ranges,  and  the  snows  of  the  great 
central  peaks  of  Monte  Rotondo  and  Monte  d'  Oro,  nearly 
ten  thousand  feet  in  height,  stood  gray  against  the  sunset. 
Generally,  the  landscapes  of  an  island  have  a  diminished, 
contracted  character ;  but  here  the  vales  were  as  amply 
spread,  the  mountains  as  grandly  planted,  as  if  a  continent 
lay  behind  them. 

For  two  leagues  the  road  descended,  following  the  bays 
and  forelands  of  the  hills.  The  diligence  sped  downward 
so  rapidly  that  before  it  was  quite  dusk  we  saw  the  houses 
and  high  rock  fortress  of  Corte  before  us.  A  broad  ave- 
nue of  sycamores,  up  and  down  which  groups  of  people 
were  st;  oiling,  led  into  the  town.  We  were  set  down  at  a 
hotel  of  primitive  fashion,  where  we  took  quarters  for  th'; 


THE  LAND   OF  PAOLl.  40£ 

night,  leaving  the  diligence,  which  would  have  carried  lu 
to  Ajaccio  by  the  next  morning.  Several  French  officials 
had  possession  of  the  best  rooms,  so  that  we  were  but  indif- 
ferently lodged  ;  but  the  mountain  trout  on  the  dinner- 
table  were  excellent,  and  the  wine  of  Corte  was  equal  to 
that  of  Tuscany. 

While  the  moon,  risen  over  the  eastern  mountains, 
steeps  the  valley  in  misty  silver,  and  a  breeze  from  the  Al- 
pine heights  deliciously  tempers  the  air,  let  us  briefly  recall 
that  wonderful  episode  of  Corsican  history  of  which  Pascal 
Paoli  is  the  principal  figure.  My  interest  in  the  name 
dates  from  the  earliest  recollections  of  childhood.  Near 
my  birthplace  there  is  an  inn  and  cluster  of  houses  named 
Paoli  —  or,  as  the  people  pronounce  it,  Peoli.  Here 
twenty-three  American  soldiers  were  murdered  in  cold 
blood  by  the  British  troops,  in  September,  1777.  Wayne's 
battle-cry  at  the  storming  of  Stony  Point  was,  "  Remember 
Paoli  ! "  The  old  tavern-sign  was  the  half-length  portrait 
of  an  officer  (in  a  red  coat,  I  think),  whom,  I  was  told,  was 
"  General  Paoli,"  but  I  knew  nothing  further  of  him, 
until,  some  years  later,  I  stumbledon  Boswell's  work  ;  my 
principal  authority,  however,  is  a  recent  volume,^  and  the 
collection  of  Paoli's  letters  published  by  Tommaseo. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  review  the  long  struggle  of  the  Cor- 
sicans  to  shake  off  the  yoke  of  Genoa ;  I  need  only  allude 
to  the  fact.  Pascal,  born  in  1724  or  1725,  was  the  son  of 
Hyacinth  Paoli,  who  was  chosen  one  of  the  chiefs  of  the 
people  in  1734,  and  in  connection  with  the  other  chiefs, 
Ceccaldi  and  Giaffi^ri,  carried  on  the  war  for  independence 
wit-  the  greatest  bravery  and  resolution,  but  with  little 
success,  for  two  years.  In  March,  1736,  when  the  Corsi- 
cans  were  reduced  to  the  last  extremity,  the  Westphalian 
adventurer,  Theodore  von  NeuhofF.  suddenly  made  his  ap- 
pearance. The  story  of  this  man,  who  came  ashore  in  a 
caftan  of  scarlet  silk,  Turkish  trousers,  yellow  shoes,  i 
1  Eistoire  dt  Pascal  Paoli,  par  M.  Bartoli.    Largentiere,  1866. 


404  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

Spanisli  hat  and  feather,  and  a  sceptre  in  his  right  hand, 
and  coolly  announced  to  the  people  that  he  had  come  to  be 
their  king,  is  so  fantastic  as  to  be  scarcely  credible  ;  but 
we  cannot  dwell  upon  it  His  supplies  of  money  and  mu 
nitions  of  war,  and  still  more  his  magnificent  promises, 
beguiled  those  sturdy  republicans  into  accepting  the  cheai 
of  a  crown.  The  fellow  was  not  without  ability,  and  but 
for  a  silly  vanity,  which  led  him  to  ape  the  state  and  show 
of  other  European  courts,  might  have  kept  his  place.  His 
reign  of  eight  months  was  the  cause  of  Genoa  calling  in 
the  aid  of  France ;  and,  after  three  years  of  varying  for- 
tunes, the  Corsicans  were  obliged  to  submit  to  the  condi- 
tions imposed  upon  them  by  the  French  commander, 
Maillebois. 

Hyacinth  Paoli  went  into  exile,  and  found  a  refuge  at 
the  court  of  Naples  with  his  son  Pascal.  The  latter  was 
carefully  educated  in  the  school  of  Genovesi,  the  first 
Italian  political-economist  of  the  last  century,  and  then 
entered  the  army,  where  he  distinguished  himself  during 
campaigns  in  Sicily  and  Calabria.  Thus  sixteen  years 
passed  away. 

The  Corsicans,  meanwhile,  had  continued  their  struggle 
under  the  leadership  of  Giaffori,  another  of  the  many  he- 
roes of  the  island.  "When,  in  1753,  he  was  assassinated, 
the  whole  population  met  together  to  celebrate  his  obse- 
quies, and  renewed  the  oath  of  resistance  to  death  against 
the  Genoese  rule.  Five  chiefs  (one  of  whom  was  Clement 
Paoli,  Pascal's  elder  brother)  were  chosen  to  organize  a 
provisional  government  and  carry  on  the  war.  But  at  the 
end  of  two  years  it  was  found  prudent  to  adopt  a  more 
practical  system,  and  to  give  the  direction  of  affairs  into 
the  hands  of  a  single  competent  man.  It  was  no  doubt 
Clement  Paoli  who  first  suggested  his  brother's  name. 
The  military  experience  of  the  latter  gave  him  the  confi- 
dence of  the  people,  and  their  unanimous  voice  called  hino 
to  be  their  leader. 


THE  LAND   OF  PAOLl.  405 

In  April,  1755,  Pascal  Paoli,  then  thirty  years  old, 
landed  at  Aleria,  the  very  spot  where  King  Theodore  had 
made  his  theatrical  entry  into  Corsica  nineteen  years  be- 
fore. Unlike  him,  Paoli  came  alone,  poor,  bringing  only 
his  noble  presence,  his  cultivated  intelligence,  and  his  fame 
as  a  soldier,  to  the  help  of  his  countrymen.  "  It  was  a 
singular  problem,"  says  one  of  the  historians  of  Corsica ; 
"  it  was  a  new  experiment  in  history,  and  how  it  might 
succeed  at  a  time  when  similar  experiments  failed  in  the 
most  civilized  lands  would  be  to  Europe  an  evidence  that 
the  rude  simplicity  of  nature  is  more  capable  of  adapting 
itself  to  democratic  liberty  than  the  refined  corruption  of 
culture  can  possibly  be." 

Paoli,  at  first  reluctant  to  accept  so  important  a  post, 
finally  yielded  to  the  solicitations  of  the  people,  and  on  the 
15th  of  July  was  solemnly  invested  with  the  Presidency  of 
Corsica.  His  first  step  shows  at  once  his  judgment  and 
his  boldness.  He  declared  that  the  vendetta  must  instantly 
cease ;  whoever  committed  blood-revenge  was  to  be 
branded  with  infamy,  and  given  up  to  the  headsman.  He 
traversed  the  island,  persuading  hostile  families  to  bury 
their  feuds,  and  relentlessly  enforced  the  new  law,  although 
one  of  his  relatives  was  the  first  victim.  But  he  was  not 
allowed  to  enter  upon  his  government  without  resistance. 
Matra,  one  of  the  Corsican  chiefs,  was  ambitious  of  Paoli's 
place,  and  for  a  year  the  island  was  disturbed  with  civil 
war,  Matra  claimed  and  received  assistance  from  Genoa, 
and  Paoli,  defeated  and  besieged  in  the  monastery  of 
Bozio,  was  almost  in  the  hands  of  his  rival,  when  rein- 
forcements appeared,  headed  by  Clement  and  by  Carnoni, 
a  blood-enemy  of  the  Paolis,  forced  by  his  noble  mo*hei 
to  forswear  the  family  enmity,  and  deliver  instead  of  ulay. 
Matra  was  killed,  and  thenceforth  Paoli  was  the  undisputed 
chief  of  Corsica. 

It  was  not  difficult  for  the  people,  once  united,  to  witiv 
stand  the  weakened  power  of  Genoa.     That  republic  poft 


406  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

sessed  only  Bastia,  Ajaccio,  and  Calvi ;  the  garrisoning  ol 
which  fortresses,  by  a  treaty  with  France  in  1756,  waa 
transferred  to  the  latter  power,  in  order  to  prevent  them 
from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Corsicans,  The  French 
proclaimed  a  neutrality  which  Paoli  perforce  was  obliged 
to  respect.  He  therefore  directed  his  attention  to  the  thor- 
ough political  organization  of  the  island,  the  development 
of  its  resources,  and  the  proper  education  of  its  people. 
He  had  found  the  country  in  a  lamentable  condition  when 
he  returned  from  his  exile.  The  greater  part  of  the  people 
had  relapsed  into  semi-barbarism  in  the  long  course  of 
war ;  agriculture  was  neglected,  laws  had  fallen  into  dis- 
use, the  vendetta  raged  everywhere,  and  the  only  element 
from  which  order  and  industry  could  be  evolved  was  the 
passionate  thirst  for  independence,  which  had  only  been 
increased  by  defeat  and  suffering. 

Paoli  made  the  completest  use  of  this  element,  bending 
it  all  to  the  purposes  of  government,  and  his  success  was 
truly  astonishing.  The  new  seaport  of  Isola  Rossa  was 
built  in  order  to  meet  the  necessity  of  immediate  com- 
merce ;  manufactories  of  all  kinds,  even  powder-mills  were 
established  ;  orchards  of  chestnut,  olive,  and  orange  trees 
were  planted,  the  culture  'of  maize  introduced,  and  plans 
made  for  draining  the  marshes  and  covering  the  island 
with  a  network  of  substantial  highways.  An  educational 
system  far  in  advance  of  the  times  was  adopted.  AJl  chil- 
dren received  at  least  the  rudiments  of  education,  and  in 
the  year  1765  the  University  of  Corsica  was  founded  at 
Corte.  One  provision  of  its  charter  was  the  education  of 
poor  scholars,  who  showed  more  than  average  capacity,  at 
the  public  expense. 

Paoli  was  obliged  to  base  his  scheme  of  government  on 
the  existing  forms.  He  retained  the  old  provincial  and 
municipl  divisions,  with  their  magistrates  and- elders,  mak- 
ing only  such  changes  as  were  necessary  to  bind  the  scat- 
tered local  jurisdictions  into  one  consistent  whole,  to  which 


THE   LAND   OF  PAOU.  40"* 

he  gavo  a  national  power  and  character.  He  declared  the 
people  to  be  the  sole  source  of  law  and  authority ;  that  his 
office  was  a  trust  from  their  hands,  and  to  be  exercised  ac- 
cording to  their  will  and  for  their  general  good  ;  and  that 
the  central  government  must  be  a  house  of  glass,  allowing 
each  citizen  to  watch  over  its  action.  "  Secrecy  and  mys- 
tery in  governments,"  he  said,  "  not  only  make  a  people 
mistrustful,  but  favor  the  growth  of  an  absolute  irrespon- 
sible power." 

All  citizens  above  the  age  of  twenty-five  years  were  en- 
titled to  the  right  of  suffrage.  Each  community  elected 
its  own  magistrates,  but  the  voters  were  obliged  to  swear 
before  the  officials  already  in  power,  that  they  would  nom- 
inate only  the  worthiest  and  most  capable  men  as  their 
successors.  These  local  elections  were  held  annually,  but 
the  magistrates  were  not  eligible  to  immediate  reelection. 
A  representative  from  each  thousand  of  the  population 
was  elected  to  the  General  Assembly,  which  in  its  turn 
chose  a  Supreme  Executive  Council  of  nine  members  — 
one  from  each  province  of  the  island.  The  latter  were  re- 
quired to  be  thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  to  have  served  as 
governors  of  their  respective  provinces.  A  majority  of 
two  thirds  gave  the  decisions  of  the  General  Assembly  the 
force  of  law ;  but  the  Council,  in  certain  cases,  had  the 
right  of  veto,  and  the  question  was  then  referred  for  final 
decision  to  the  next  Assembly.  Paoli  was  President  of 
the  Council  and  General-iu-chief  of  the  army.  Both  he 
and  the  members  of  che  Council,  however,  were  responsible 
to  the  nation,  and  liable  to  impeachment,  removal,  and 
punishment  by  the  General  Assembly. 

Paoli,  while  enforcing  a  general  militia  system,  took  the 
strongest  ground  against  the  establishment  of  a  standing 
army.  ''  In  a  free  land,"  he  said,  "  every  citizen  must  be  a 
soldier,  and  ready  to  arm  at  any  moment  in  defense  of  his 
rights.  But  standing  armies  have  always  served  Despot- 
ism rather  than  Liberty."     He  only  gave  way  that  a  lin) 


408  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

ited  number  should  be  enrolled  to  garrison  the  fortified 
places.  As  soon  as  the  people  were  sufficiently  organized 
to  resist  the  attempts  which  Genoa  made  from  time  to 
time  to  recover  her  lost  dominion,  he  devoted  his  energies 
wholly  to  the  material  development  of  the  island.  The 
Assembly,  at  his  suggestion,  appointed  two  commissioners 
of  agriculture  for  each  province.  The  vendetta  was  com- 
pletely suppressed ;  with  order  and  security  came  a  new 
prosperity,  and  the  cities  held  by  the  neutral  French  began 
to  stir  with  desires  to  come  under  Paoli's  paternal  rule. 

The  resemblance  in  certain  forms  as  in  the  general  spirit 
and  character  of  the  Constitution  of  the  Corsican  Repub- 
lic to  that  of  the  United  States,  which  was  framed  more 
than  thirty  years  afterwards,  is  very  evident.  Indeed,  we 
may  say  that  the  latter  is  simply  an  adaptation  of  the  same 
political  principles  to  the  circumstances  of  a  more  advanced 
race  and  a  broader  field  of  action.  But  if  we  justly  ven- 
erate the  courage  which  won  our  independence  and  the 
wisdom  which  gave  us  our  institutions,  how  shall  we  suffi- 
ciently honor  the  man  and  the  handful  of  half-barbarous 
people  who  so  splendidly  anticipated  the  same  great  work ! 
Is  there  anything  nobler  in  history  than  the  Corsican  epi- 
sode ?  No  wonder  that  ther  sluggish  soul  of  Europe,  then 
beginning  to  stir  with  the  presentiment  of  coming  changes, 
was  kindled  and  thrilled  as  not  for  centuries  before.  What 
effect  the  example  of  Corsica  had  upon  the  American 
Colonies  is  something  which  we  cannot  now  measure.  I 
like  to  think,  however,  that  the  country  tavern-sign  of 
*'  General  Paoli,"  put  up  before  the  Revolution,  signified 
more  than  the  mere  admiration  of  the  landlord  for  a  for- 
eign hero. 

At  the  end  of  ten  years  the  Genoese  Senate  became 
convi  iced  that  the  recovery  of  Corsica  was  hopeless  ;  and 
wheii  Paoli  succeeded  in  creating  a  small  fleet,  under  the 
command  of  Perez,  Knight  of  Malta,  they  saw  their  Med- 
iterranean commerce  threatened  with  destruction.     In  the 


THE   LAND   OF   PACU.  40P 

/ear  1767  the  island  of  Capraja  was  captured  by  the  Ck»i- 
sicans ;  then  Genoa  set  the  example  which  Austria  has 
recently  followed  in  the  case  of  Venetia.  A  treaty  was 
signed  at  Versailles  on  the  15th  of  May,  1768,  between  the 
French  Minister,  the  Duke  de  Choiseul,  and  the  Genoese 
Ambassador,  whereby  Genoa  transferred  to  France  all  her 
right  and  title  to  the  island  of  Corsica.  This  was  a  death- 
blow to  the  Republic ;  but  the  people  armed  and  organized, 
determined  to  resist  to  the  end.  The  splendid  victory  at 
Borgo  gave  them  hope.  They  asked  and  expected  the 
assistance  of  England ;  but  when  did  England  ever  help  a 
weak  and  struggling  people  ?  The  battle  of  Pontenuovo, 
on  the  9th  of  May,  1769,  sealed  the  fate  of  the  island.  A 
month  afterwards  Paoli  went  into  exile  with  three  hundred 
of  his  countrymen.  Among  those  who  fled,  after  the  bat- 
tle, to  the  wild  Alpine  fastnesses  of  Monte  Rotondo,  was 
his  secretary,  Carlo  Bonaparte,  and  the  latter's  wife,  Letitia 
Ramolino,  then  seven  months  enceinte  with  the  boy  who 
afterwards  made  Genoa  and  France  suffer  the  blood-re- 
venge of  Corsica.  Living  in  caves  and  forests,  drenched 
with  rain,  and  almost  washed  away  by  the  mountain  tor- 
rents, Letitia  bore  her  burden  to  Ajaccio,  and  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  was  one  of  the  first  Corsicans  who  were  born 
Frenchmen. 

Paoli's  journey  through  Italy  and  Germany  to  England 
was  a  march  of  triumph.  On  reaching  London  he  was  re- 
ceived by  the  king  in  private  audience ;  all  parties  joined 
in  rendering  him  honor,  A  pension  of  two  thousand 
pounds  a  year  was  granted  to  him  (the  greater  part  of 
which  he  divided  among  his  fellow  exiles),  and  he  took  up 
his  residence  in  the  country  from  which  he  still  hoped  the 
liberation  of  Corsica.  For  twenty  years  we  hear  of  him 
as  a  member  of  that  society  which  included  Burke,  Rey- 
nolds, Johnson,  Garrick,  and  Goldsmith  ;  keeping  clear  ol 
parties,  yet,  we  may  be  sure,  following  with  an  interest  he 
hardly  dared  betray  the  events  of  the  American  struggle. 


410  BY-WAYS   OP  EUROPE. 

But  the  French  revolution  did  not  forget  him.  Th« 
Corsicans,  in  November,  1789,  carried  away  by  the  repub- 
lican  movement  in  France,  had  voted  that  their  islanj 
should  be  an  integral  part  of  the  French  nation.  There 
was  a  general  cry  for  Paoli,  and  in  April  1790,  he  reached 
Paris.  Lafayette  was  his  friend  and  guide  ;  the  National 
Assembly  received  him  with  every  mark  of  respect ;  the 
club  of  the  Amis  de  la  Constitution  seated  him  beside  its 
President — Robespierre;  Louis  XVI.  gave  him  an  audi- 
ence, and  he  was  styled  by  the  enthusiastic  populace  "  the 
Washington  of  Europe."  At  Marseilles  he  was  met  by  a 
Corsican  deputation,  two  of  the  members  of  which  were 
Joseph  and  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  who  sailed  with  him  to 
their  native  island.  On  landing  at  Cape  Corso,  he  knelt 
and  kissed  the  earth,  exclaiming,  "  0  my  country,  I  left 
thee  enslaved  and  I  find  thee  free  ! "  All  the  land  rose  to 
receive  him  ;  Te  Deums  were  chanted  in  the  churches,  and 
the  mountain  villages  were  depopulated  to  swell  his  tri- 
umphal march.  In  September  of  the  same  year  the  rep- 
resentatives of  the  people  elected  him  President  of  the 
Council  and  General  of  the  troops  of  the  island. 

Many  things  had  been  changed  during  his  twenty  years' 
absence,  under  the  rule  of  France.  It  was  not  long  before 
the  people  divided  themselves  into  two  parties — one  French 
and  ultra-republican  ;  the  other  Corsican,  working  secretly 
for  the  independence  of  the  island.  The  failure  of  the 
expedition  against  Sardinia  was  charged  to  Paoli,  and  he 
was  summoned  by  the  Convention  to  appear  and  answer 
the  charges  against  him.  Had  he  complied,  his  head  would 
probably  have  fallen  under  the  all-devouring  guillotine  ;  he 
refused,  and  his  refusal  brought  the  two  Corsican  parties 
Into  open  collision.  Paoli  was  charged  with  being  ambi- 
tious, corrupt,  and  plotting  to  deliver  Corsica  to  England. 
His  most  zealous  defender  was  the  young  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte, who  wrote  a  fiery,  indignant  address,  which  I  should 
like  to  quote.  Among  other  things  he  says,  "  We  owe  ali 
to  him  —  even  the  fortune  of  being  a  republic  !  " 


THE  LAND   OF   PAOU.  411 

The  story  now  becomes  one  of  intrigue  and  deception, 
and  its  heroic  atmosphere  gradually  vanishes.  Pozzo  di 
Borgo,  the  blood-enemy  of  Napoleon,  alienated  Paoli 
from  the  latter,  A  fresh,  cunning,  daring  intellect,  he  ac- 
quired a  mischievous  influence  over  the  gray-haired,  sim- 
ple-hearted patriot.  That  which  Paoll's  enemies  charged 
against  him  came  to  pass ;  he  asked  the  help  of  England, 
and  in  1794  the  people  accepted  the  sovereignty  of  that 
nation,  on  condition  of  preserving  their  institutions,  and 
being  governed  by  a  viceroy,  who  it  was  presumed  would 
be  none  other  than  Pascal  Paoli.  The  English  fleet,  un- 
der Admiral  Hood,  speedily  took  possession  of  Bastia, 
Calvi,  Ajaccio,  and  the  other  seaports.  But  the  English 
government,  contemptuously  ignoring  Paoli's  services  and 
claims,  sent  out  Sir  Gilbert  Elliott  as  viceroy ;  and  he, 
jealous  of  Paoli's  popularity,  demanded  the  latter's  recall 
to  England.  George  III.  wrote  a  command  under  the  form 
of  an  invitation ;  and  in  1795,  Paoli,  disappointed  in  all 
his  hopes,  disgusted  with  the  treatment  he  had  received, 
and  recognizing  the  hopelessness  of  healing  the  new  dis- 
sensions among  the  people,  left  Corsica  for  the  last  time. 
He  returned  to  his  former  home  in  London,  where  he  died 
in  1807,  at  the  age  of  eighty-two  years.  What  little  prop- 
erty he  had  saved  was  left  to  found  a  school  at  Stretta,  his 
native  village  ;  and  another  at  Corte,  for  fifteen  years  his 
capital.  Within  a  year  after  his  departure  the  English 
were  driven  out  of  Corsica. 

Paoli  rejoiced,  as  a  Corsican,  at  Napoleon's  ascendency 
m  Fnince.  He  illuminated  his  house  in  London  when  the 
latter  was  declared  Consul  for  life,  yet  he  was  never  re- 
called.  During  his  last  days  on  St.  Helena,  Napoleon 
regretted  his  neglect  or  jealousy  of  the  old  hero  ;  his  lame 
apoloo-y  was.  "  I  was  so  governed  by  political  considera- 
tions, that  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  obey  my  personal 
impulses  1 " 

Our  first  object,  on    the    morning    after  our  arrival  ic 


412  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBOPE. 

Corte,  was  to  visit  tlie  places  with  which  I'aoli's  name  ia 
associated.  The  main  street  conducted  us  to  the  public 
square,  where  stands  his  bronze  statue,  with  the  inscrip- 
tion on  the  pedestal:  "A  Pascal  Paoli  la  Corse  Re- 
coNNAissANTE."  On  one  side  of  the  square  is  the  Pa- 
lazza,  or  Hall  of  Government ;  and  there  they  show  you  his 
room,  the  window-shutters  of  which  still  keep  their  lining 
of  cork,  as  in  the  days  of  assassination,  when  he  founded 
the  Republic.  Adjoining  it  is  a  chamber  where  the  Exec 
utive  Council  met  to  deliberate.  Paoli's  school,  which  still 
flourishes,  is  his  best  monument. 

High  over  the  town  rises  the  battered  citadel,  seated  on  a 
rock  which  on  the  western  side  falls  several  hundred  feet 
sheer  down  to  the  Tavignano.  The  high  houses  of  brown 
stone  climb  and  cling  to  the  eastern  slope,  rough  masses 
of  browner  rock  thrust  out  among  them  ;  and  the  place 
thus  has  an  irregular  pyramidal  form,  which  is  wonderfully 
picturesque.  The  citadel  was  last  captured  from  the  Geno- 
ese by  Paoli's  forerunner,  Giaffori,  in  the  year  1745.  The 
Corsican  cannon  were  beginning  to  breach  the  walls,  when 
the  Genoese  commander  ordered  Giaffori's  son,  who  had 
previously  been  taken  prisoner,  to  be  suspended  from  the 
ramparts.  For  a  moment  —  but  only  for  a  moment  — 
Giaffori  shuddered,  and  turned  away  his  head ;  then  he 
commanded  the  gunners,  who  had  ceased  firing,  to  renew 
the  attack.  The  breach  was  effected,  and  the  citadel  taken 
by  storm  ;  the  boy,  unhurt  amidst  the  terrible  cannonade, 
was  restored  to  his  father. 

We  climbed  towards  the  top  of  the  rock  by  streets  which 
resembled  staircases.  At  last  the  path  came  to  an  end  in 
some  unsavory  back-yards,  if  piles  of  sliattered  rock  behind 
thf  houses  can  be  so  called.  I  asked  a  young  fellow  who 
was  standing  in  the  doorway,  watching  us,  whether  any 
view  was  to  be  had  by  going  further. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  but  there  is  a  better  prospect  from  the 
other  house  —  yonder,  where  you  see  the  old  woman." 


THE   LAND  OF  PAOU.  41J 

We  clambered  across  the  intervening  rocks,  and  found 
the  woman  engaged  in  shearing  a  goat,  which  a  boy  held  hy 
the  horns.  "  Certainly,"  she  said,  when  I  repeated  the 
question  ;  "  Come  into  the  house,  and  you  shall  look  from 
the  windows." 

She  led  us  through  the  kitchen  into  a  bright,  plainly  fur 
nished  room,  where  four  women  were  sewing.  They  all 
greeted  us  smilingly,  rose,  pushed  away  their  chairs,  and 
then  opened  the  southern  window.  "  Now  look  ! "  said  the 
old  woman. 

We  were  dazzled  by  the  brightness  and  beauty  of  the  pic- 
ture. The  house  was  perched  upon  the  outer  angle  of  the 
rock,  and  the  valley  of  the  Tavignano,  with  the  gorge  through 
which  its  affluent,  the  Restouica,  issues  from  the  mountains, 
lay  below  us.  Gardens,  clumps  of  walnut  and  groves  of 
chestnut  trees,  made  the  valley  green  ;  the  dark  hues  of  the 
mountains  were  softened  to  purple  in  the  morning  air, 
and  the  upper  snows  shone  with  a  brilliancy  which  1  have 
rarely  seen  among  the  Alps.  The  breeze  came  down  to 
us  with  freshness  on  its  wings,  and  the  subdued  voices  of 
the'  twin  rivers. 

"  Now  the  other  window !  "  the  women  s^id. 

It  opened  eastward.  There  were,  first,  the  roofs  of 
Corte,  dropping  away  to  the  water-side ;  then  a  wide,  boun- 
teous valley,  green,  flecked  with  harvest  gold ;  then  village- 
crowned  hills,  and,  behind  all,  the  misty  outlines  of  moun- 
tains that  slope  to  the  eastern  shore.  It  is  a  fair  land, 
this  Corsica,  and  the  friendly  women  were  delighted  when 
I  told  them  so. 

The  people  looked  at  us  with  a  natural  curiosity  as  we 
descended  the  hill.  Old  women,  invariably  dressed  in 
black,  gossiped  or  spun  at  the  doors,  girls  carried  water  on 
iheir  heads  from  the  fountains  below,  children  tumbled 
about  on  the  warm  stones,  and  a  young  mother,  beside  bei 
cradle,  sang  the  Corsican  lullaby :  — 


414  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

"  Ninni  ninni,  ninna  nanna, 
Ninni  ninni,  ninni  nolu, 
Allegrezza  di  la  mamma, 
Addormentati,  o  figliolu !  " 

There  is  another  Corsican  cradle  song  which  has  a  siiv 
gular  resemblance  to  Tennyson's,  yet  it  is  quite  unlikely 
that  he  ever  saw  it.     One  verse  runs  :  — 

"  A  little  pearl-laden  ship,  my  darling, 
Thou  earnest  silken  stores, 
And  with  the  silken  sails  all  set 
Gom'st  from  the  Indian  shores, 
And  wrought  with  the  finest  workmanship 
Are  all  thy  golden  oars. 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep  a  little  while, 
Ninni  nanna,  sleep !  " 

The  green  waters  of  the  Tavignano,  plunging  and  foam- 
ing down  their  rocky  bed,  freshened  the  warm  summer  air. 
Beyond  the  bridge  a  vein  of  the  river,  led  underground, 
gushes  forth  as  a  profuse  fountain  under  an  arch  of  mason- 
ry ;  and  here  a  number  of  people  were  collected  to  wash 
and  to  draw  water.  One  of  the  girls,  who  gave  us  to 
drink,  refused  to  accept  a  proffered  coin,  until  a  country- 
man who  was  looking  on  said,  "  You  should  take  it,  since 
the  lady  wishes  it."  A  few  paces  further  a  second  bridge 
crosses  the  Restonica,  which  has  its  source  in  some  small 
lakes  near  the  summit  of  Monte  Rotondo.  Its  volume  of 
water  appeared  to  me  to  be  quite  equal  to  that  of  the  Tavig- 
nano. 

The  two  rivers  meet  in  a  rocky  glen  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
below  the  town ;  and  thither  we  wandered  in  the  after- 
noon, through  the  shade  of  superb  chestnut-trees.  From 
this,  as  from  every  other  point  in  the  neighborhood,  the 
views  are  charming.  There  is  no  threat  of  malaria  in  the 
pure  mountain  air  ;  the  trees  are  of  richest  foliage,  the 
water  is  transparent  beryl,  and  the  pleasant,  communica- 
tive people  one  meets  impress  one  with  a  sense  of  tlieii 
honest  simplicity.    We  wandered  around  Corte,  surrender 


THE   LAND   OF   PAOLl.  416 

ing  ourselves  to  the  influences  of  the  scenery  and  ils  asso- 
ciations, and  entirely  satisfied  with  both. 

Towards  evening  we  climbed  the  hill  by  an  easier  patb, 
which  brought  us  upon  the  crest  of  a  ridge  connecting 
the  citadel-rock  with  the  nearest  mountains.  Directly 
before  us  opened  the  gorge  of  the  Tavignano,  with  a  bridle- 
path notched  along  its  almost  precipitous  sides.  A  man 
who  had  been  sitting  idly  on  a  rock,  with  a  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  came  up,  and  stood  beside  me.  "  Yonder,"  said  he, 
pointing  to  the  bridle-path,  —  "yonder  is  the  road  to  the 
land  of  Niolo.  If  you  follow  that,  you  will  come  to  a  forest 
that  is  four  hours  long.  The  old  General  Arrighi  —  the 
Duke  of  Padua,  you  know  —  travelled  it  some  years  ago, 
and  I  was  his  guide.  I  see  you  are  strangers ;  you  ought 
to  see  the  land  of  Niolo.  It  is  not  so  rich  as  Corte  here ; 
but  then  the  forests  and  the  lakes,  —  ah,  they  are  fine ! " 

Presently  the  man's  wife  joined  us,  and  we  sat  down  to- 
gether, and  gossiped  for  half  an  hour.  They  gave  us  the 
recipe  for  making  broccio,-  a  kind  of  Corsican  curd,  or 
junket,  which  we  had  tasted  at  the  hotel,  and  found  deli- 
cious. I  also  learned  from  them  many  details  of  the  coun- 
try life  of  the  island.  They,  like  all  the  Corsicans  with 
whom  I  came  in  contact,  were  quite  as  ready  to  answer 
questions  as  to  ask  them.  They  are  not  so  lively  as  the 
Italians,  but  more  earnestly  comnmnicative,  quick  of  ap- 
prehension, and  gifted  with  a  rude  humor  of  their  own. 
In  Bastia  I  bought  a  volume  of  Pruverhj  Corse,  which  con- 
tains more  than  three  thousand  proverbs  peculiar  to  the 
island,  many  of  them  exceedingly  witty  and  clever.  I 
quote  a  single  one  as  a  specimen  of  the  dialect :  — 

"  Da  gattivu  calza  un  ne  piglik  magliolu, 
Male  u  babbu  e  pegghiu  u  figliolu." 

During  our  talk  I  asked  the  pair,  "  Do  you  still  have 
the  vendetta  in  this  neigborhood  ?  " 

They  both  professed  not  to  know  what  I  meant  by  "  ven- 


4l6  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

detta,"  but  I  saw  plainly  enough  that  they  understood  the 
question.  Finally  the  man  said,  rather  impatiently, "  There 
are  a  great  many  kinds  of  vendetta." 

"I  mean  blood-revenge  —  assassination  —  murder." 

His  hesitation  to  speak  about  the  matter  disappeared  as 
mysteriously  as  it  came.  (Was  there,  perhaps,  a  stain  upon 
his  own  hand?)  ''  0,"  he  answered,  "that  is  all  at  an  end. 
I  can  remember  when  five  persons  were  killed  in  a  day  in 
Corte,  and  when  a'man  could  not  travel  from  here  to  Ajac 
cio  without  risking  his  life.  But  now  we  have  neither  mur- 
ders nor  robberies  ;  all  the  roads  are  safe,  the  people  live 
quietly,  and  the  country  everywhere  is  better  than  it  was." 

I  noticed  that  the  Corsicans  are  proud  of  the  present 
Emperor  on  account  of  his  parentage ;  but  they  have  also 
some  reason  to  be  grateful  to  his  government.  He  has 
done  much  to  repair  the  neglect  of  his  uncle.  The  work 
of  Paoli  has  been  performed  over  again ;  law  and  order 
prevail  from  the  sea-shore  to  the  highest  herdsman's  hut 
on  Monte  Rotondo ;  admirable  roads  traverse  the  island, 
schools  have  been  established  in  all  the  villages,  and  the 
national  spirit  of  the  people  is  satisfied  by  having  a  semi- 
Corsican  on  the  throne  of  France.  I  saw  no  evidence  o( 
discontent  anywhere,  nor'  need  there  be  ;  for  Europe  has 
nearly  reached  the  Corsican  ideal  of  the  last  century,  and 
the  pride  of  the  people  may  well  repose  for  a  while  upon 
the  annals  of  their  heroic  past 

It  was  a  serious  disappointment  that  we  were  unable  to 
visit  Ajaccio  and  the  Balagna.  We  could  only  fix  the  in- 
spiring scenery  of  Corte  in  our  memories,  and  so  make  its 
historical  associations  vital  and  enduring.  There  was  nc 
other  direct  way  of  returning  to  Bastia  than  the  road  by 
which  we  came  ;  but  it  kept  a  fresh  interest  for  us.  The 
conductor  of  the  diligence  was  one  of  the  liveliest  fellows 
living,  and  entertained  us  with  innumerable  stories;  and 
at  the  station  of  Oniessa  we  met  with  a  character  so  orig- 
inal that  I  wish  I  could  record  every  word  he  said. 


TH]    LAND   OF  PAOU.  417 

The  man  looked  more  like  a  Yankee  than  any  Italian  1 
had  seen  for  six  months.  He  presented  the  conductor  with 
what  appeared  to  be  a  bank-note  for  one  thousand  francs ; 
but  it  proved  to  be  issued  by  the  "  Bank  of  Content,"  and 
entitled  the  holder  to  live  a  thousand  years.  Happiness 
was  the  president,  and  Temperance  the  cashier. 

"  I  am  a  director  of  the  bank,"  said  the  disseminator  of 
the  notes,  addressing  the  passengers  and  a  group  of  coun- 
trymen, "  and  I  can  put  you  all  in  the  way  of  being  stock- 
holders. But  you  must  first  bring  testimonials.  Four  are 
required  —  one  religious,  one  medical,  one  legal,  and  ono 
domestic.  What  must  they  be  ?  Listen,  and  I  will  tell. 
Religious  —  from  a  priest,  vouching  for  four  things :  that 
you  have  never  been  baptized,  never  preached,  don't  be- 
lieve in  the  I'ope,  and  are  not  afraid  of  the  Devil.  Medi- 
cal —  from  a  doctor,  that  you  have  had  the  measles,  that 
your  teeth  are  sound,  that  you  are  not  flatulent,  and  that 
he  has  never  given  you  medicine.  Legal  —  from  a  law- 
yer, that  you  have  never  been  accused  of  theft,  that  you 
mind  your  own  business,  and  that  you  have  never  em- 
ployed him.  Domestic  —  from  your  wife,  that  you  don't 
lift  the  lids  of  the  kitchen  pots,  walk  in  your  sleep,  or  lose 
the  keyhole  of  your  door!  There!  can  any  one  of  you 
bring  me  these  certificates  ?" 

The  auditors,  who  had  roared  with  laughter  during  the 
speech,  became  suddenly  grave  —  which  emboldened  the 
man  to  ply  them  with  other  and  sharper  questions.  Our 
departure  cut  short  the  scene  ;  but  I  heard  the  conductor 
lauirhinof  on  his  box  for  a  league  further. 

At  Ponte  alia  Leccia  we  breakfasted  on  trout,  and, 
speeding  down  the  grand  and  lonely  valley  of  the  Golo, 
reached  Bastia  towards  evening.  As  we  steamed  out  of 
the  little  harbor  the  next  day,  we  took  the  words  of  ova 
friend  Gregorovius,  and  made  them  ours :  — 
27 


418  BY-WAYS   OP  KUROPE. 

"  Year  after  year,  thy  slopes  of  olives  hoar 
Give  oil,  thy  vineyards  still  their  bounty  pourl 
Thy  maize  on  golden  meadows  ripen  well, 
And  let  the  sun  thy  curse  of  blood  dispel, 
Till  down  each  vale  and  on  each  mountain-sid* 
The  stains  of  thy  heroic  blood  be  dried ! 
Thy  sons  be  like  their  fathers,  strong  and  sure. 
Thy  daughters  as  thy  mountain  rivers  pure. 
And  still  thy  granite  crags  between  them  stand 
And  all  corruptions  of  the  older  land. 
Fair  isle,  farewell !   thy  virtues  shall  not  sleep} 
Thy  fathers'  valor  shall  their  children  keep, 
That  ne'er  this  taunt  to  thee  the  stranger  ( 
Thy  heroes  were  bat  fikbles  oi  Um  PMtl  < 


THE  ISLAND  OF  MADDALENA. 

WITH    A    DISTANT    A^IEW    OF    CAPRERA. 


Before  leaving  Florence  for  the  trip  to  Corsica,  in  which 
1  intended  to  include,  if  possible,  the  island  of  Snrdinia,  I 
noticed  that  the  Rubattino  steamers  touched  at  Maddalena, 
on  their  way  from  Bastia  to  Porto  Torres.  The  island  of 
Maddalena,  I  knew,  lay  directly  over  against  Caprera,  sep- 
arated by  a  strait  not  more  than  two  or  three  miles  in 
breadth,  and  thus  a  convenient  opportimity  was  offered  of 
visiting  the  owner  and  resident  of  the  latter  island,  the 
illustrious  General  Giuseppe  Garibaldi.  I  have  no  special 
passion  for  making  the  personal  acquaintance  of  distin- 
guished men,  unless  it  happens  that  there  is  some  point  of 
mutual  interest  concerning  which  intelligence  may  be  given 
or  received.  In  this  case,  I  imagined  there  was  such  a 
point  of  contact.  Having  followed  the  fortunes  of  Italy 
for  the  past  twenty  years,  with  the  keen  sympathy  which 
springs  from  a  love  for  the  land,  and  having  been  so  near 
the  events  of  the  last  unfortunate  expedition  against  Rome 
as  to  feel  from  day  to  day  the  reflection  of  those  events  in 
the  temper  of  the  Italian  people,  I  had  learned,  during  a 
subsequent  residence  in  Rome,  certain  facts  which  added 
to  the  interest  of  the  question,  while  they  seemed  still  more 
to  complicate  its  solution.  There  were  some  things,  I  felt, 
an  explanation  of  which  (so  far  as  he  would  be  able  to 
give  it)  might  be  asked  of  Garibaldi  without  impropriety, 
and  which  he  could  communicate  without  any  necessity  of 
reserve. 

Another  and  natural  sentiment  was  mingled  with  my 
desire  to  meet  the  hero  of  Italian  unity.  I  knew  how 
shamefully  he  had  been  deceived  in  certain  respects,  be- 
fore undertaking  the  expedition  which  terminated  so  fruit* 


422  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

less]\  at  Mentana,  and  could,  therefore,  guess  the  mortifi- 
cation  which  accompanied  him  in  his  imprisonment  'for 
such  it  virtually  is)  at  Caprera.  While,  therefore,  I  should 
not  have  sought  an  interview  after  the  glorious  Sicilian  and 
Calabrian  campaign,  or  when  the  still  excited  world  was 
reading  Nelaton's  bulletins  from  Spezzia,  —  so  confounding 
myself  with  the  multitude  who  always  admire  the  hero  of 
the  day,  and  risk  their  necks  to  shake  hands  with  him,  —  T 
felt  a  strong  desire  to  testify  such  respect  as  the  visit  of  a 
stranger  implies,  in  Garibaldi's  day  of  defeat  and  neglect. 

"  I  did  not  praise  thee,  when  the  crowd. 
Witched  with  the  moment's  inspiration, 
Vexed  thy  still  ether  with  hosannas  loud, 
And  stamped  their  dusty  adoration."  ^ 

Of  all  the  people  who  crowded  to  see  him  at  Spezzia  in 
such  throngs  that  a  false  Garibaldi,  with  bandaged  foot, 
was  arranged  to  receive  the  most  of  them,  there  is  no  trace 
now.  The  same  Americans  who  come  from  Paris  chant- 
ing paeans  to  Napoleon  III.,  go  to  Rome  and  are  instantly 
stricken  with  sympathy  for  Pius  IX.,  and  a  certain  respect 
for  the  Papacy,  temporal  power  included.  They  give  Ca- 
prera a  wide  berth.  Two  or  three  steadfast  English 
friends  do  what  they  can  to  make  the  hero's  solitude  pleas- 
ant, and  he  has  still,  as  always,  the  small  troop  of  Italian 
followers,  who  never  forsake  him,  because  they  live  from 
his  substance. 

Before  deciding  to  visit  Caprera,  I  asked  the  candid  ad- 
vice of  some  of  the  General's  most  intimate  friends  in 
Florence.  They  assured  me  that  scarcely  any  one  had 
gone  to  see  him  for  months  past ;  that  a  visit  from  an 
American,  who  sympathized  with  the  great  and  generous 
aims  to  which  he  has  devoted  his  life,  could  not  be  other- 
wise than  welcome  ;  and,  while  offering  me  cordial  letters 
of  introduction,  declared  that  this  formality  was  really  un- 
necessary.    It  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  spoken  of  as  a 

1  Lowell,  Ode  to  Lamariitu . 


tHE  ISLAND   OF  MADDALENA.  4^ 

mail  whose  refined  amiability  of  manner  was  e^ut,!  to  hU 
unselfish  patriotism,  and  who  was  as  simple,  unpretending, 
and  accessible  personally,  as  he  was  rigorously  democratic 
in  his  political  utterances. 

I  purposely  shortened  my  tour  in  Corsica,  in  order  to 
take  the  Italian  steamer  which  touches  at  Bastia,  on  its 
way  to  Maddalena.  Half  smothered  in  the  sultry  heat,  we 
watched  the  distant  smoke  rounding  the  rocks  of  Capraja, 
and  the  steamer  had  no  sooner  anchored  outside  the  mole, 
than  we  made  haste  to  embark.  The  cloth  was  already 
spread  over  the  skylight  on  the  quarterdeck,  and  seven 
plates  denoted  six  fellow-passengers.  Two  of  these  were 
ladies,  two  Italians,  with  an  old  gentleman,  who  proved  to 
English,  although  he  looked  the  least  like  it,  and  an  unmis- 
takable Garibaldian,  in  a  red  shirt.  The  latter  was  iny 
vis-a-vis  at  table,  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  startled  the 
company  by  exclaiming  :  "  In  fifty  years  we  shall  have  the 
Universal  Republic ! " 

After  looking  around  the  table,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  me, 
as  if  challenging  assent. 

"  In  five  hundred  years,  perhaps,"  I  said. 

"  But  the  priests  will  go  down  soon  !  "  he  shouted  ;  "  and 
as  for  that  brute"  (pointing  with  his  fork  towards  Corsica), 
"who  rules  there,  his  time  is  soon  up." 

As  nobody  seemed  inclined  to  reply,  he  continued : 
"  Since  the  coming  of  the  second  Jesus  Christ,  Garibaldi, 
the  work  goes  on  like  lightning.  As  soon  as  the  priests 
are  down,  the  Republic  will  come." 

This  man,  so  one  of  the  passengers  informed  me,  had 
conie  on  board  en  bourgeois,  but  as  the  .steamer  approached 
Corsica,  he  suddenly  appeared  on  deck  in  his  red  shirt. 
After  we  left  Bastia,  he  resumed  his  former  costume.  In 
the  capacity  to  swagger,  he  surpassed  any  man  I  had  seen 
since  leaving  home.  His  hair  hung  about  his  ears,  his 
nose  was  long,  his  beard  thick  and  black,  and  he  had  the 
air  of  a  priest  rather  than  a  soldier, —  but  it  was  an  ail 


424  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

which  pompously  announced  to  everybody :  "  Garibaldi  h 
the  Second  Christ,  and  I  am  his  Prophet ! " 

Over  the  smooth  sea  we  sped  down  the  picturesque  Cor- 
sican  coast.  An  indentation  in  the  grand  mountain  chain 
showed  us  the  valley  of  the  Golo ;  then  came  the  heights 
of  Vescovato,  where  Filippini  wrote  the  history  of  the 
island,  and  Murat  took  refuge  after  losing  his  Neapolitan 
kingdom  ;  then,  Cervione,  where  the  fantastic  King  The- 
odore, the  First  and  Last,  held  his  capital ;  after  which 
night  fell  upon  the  shores,  and  we  saw  only  mountain 
phantoms  in  the  moonlight. 

At  sunrise  the  steward  called  me. 

"  We  are  passing  the  bocca,"  —  the  Straits  of  Bonifacio, 
—  said  he,  "  and  will  soon  be  at  Maddalena." 

It  was  an  archipelago  of  rocks  in  which  the  steamer  was 
entangled.  All  around  us,  huge  gray  masses,  with  scarcely 
a  trace  of  vegetation,  rose  from  the  wave ;  in  front,  the 
lofty,  dark  blue,  serrated  mountains  of  Sardinia  pierced  the 
sky,  and  far  to  the  right  faded  the  southern  shores  of  Cor- 
sica. But,  bleak  and  forsaken  as  was  the  scene,  it  had  a 
curious  historical  interest.  As  an  opening  between  the 
islands  disclosed  the  white  rocks,  citadel,  and  town  of  Bon- 
ifacio, some  fifteen  miles'  distant,  I  remembered  the  first 
important  episode  in  the  life  of  Napoleon  It  was  in  the 
year  1792,  while  Pascal  Paoli  was  still  President  of  Cor- 
sica. An  expedition  against  Sardinia  having  been  deter- 
mined upon  by  the  Republic,  Napoleon,  after,  perhaps,  the 
severest  struggle  of  his  life,  was  elected  second  in  com- 
mand of  the  battalion  of  Ajaccio.  A  work^  written  by  M. 
Nasica,  of  the  latter  place,  gives  a  singular  picture  of  the 
fierce  family  feuds  which  preceded  the  election.  It  was 
the  commencement  of  that  truly  Corsican  vendetta  between 
Pozzo  di  Borgo  and  the  future  emperor,  which  only  ter- 
minated when  4he  former  was  able  to  say,  after  "Waterloo : 
"  I  have  not  killed  Napoleon,  but  I  have  thrown  the  lasl 
shovelful  of  earth  upon  him." 

I  Memoires  tur  fEnfunce  et  la  Jeunetse  de  Napoleon.    Ajaccio,  1853. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  MADDALENA.  425 

The  first  attempt  of  the  expedition  was  to  be  directed 
against  the  island  of  Maddaleiia.  A  battery  was  planted 
on  the  uninhabited  rock  of  Santa  Teresa  (beside  which  we 
passed),  and  Maddalena  was  bombarded,  but  without  effect. 
Napoleon  prepared  a  plan  for  its  capture,  but  Colonna,  the 
first  in  command,  refused  to  allow  him  to  make  the  at- 
tempt. A  heated  discussion  took  place  in  the  presence  of 
the  other  officers,  and  Napoleon,  becoming  at  last  indig- 
nant and  impatient,  turned  to  the  latter,  and  said :  "  He 
doesn't  know  what  I  mean." 

"  You  are  an  insolent  fellow,"  retorted  Colonna. 

Napoleon  muttered,  as  he  turned  away :  "  We  have  only 
a  cheval  de  parade  for  commander." 

At  Bonifacio,  afterwards,  his  career  came  near  being 
suddenly  terminated.  Some  Marseilles  marines  who  landed 
there  provoke  :1  a  quarrel  with  the  soldiers  of  the  Corsican 
battalion.  Napoleon  interfered  to  restore  order,  where- 
upon he  was  seized  by  the  fierce  Marseillaise,  who  would 
have  hung  him  to  a  lamp-post,  but  for  the  timely  aid  of  the 
civil  authorities.  The  disfavor  of  Paoli,  who  was  at  that  time 
under  the  control  of  Pozzo  di  Borgo,  finally  drove  Napo- 
leon from  Corsica  ;  so  that  the  machinations  of  his  bitter- 
est enemy  really  forced  him  into  the  field  where  he  was  so 
suddenly  and  splendidly  successful. 

"\Yhile  we  were  recalling  this  fateful  fragment  of  history, 
the  steamer  entered  the  narrow  strait  between  Maddalena 
and  the  main  land  of  Sardinia,  and  at  the  same  moment 
two  stately  French  vessels  made  their  appearance,  crossing 
tracks  on  the  route  between  Marseilles  and  the  Orient 
The  rocky  island  of  San  Stefano,  lying  opposite  Madda- 
lena, forms  a  sheltered  harbor,  which  Caprera,  rising  east- 
ward against  the  sea,  renders  completely  landlocked.  But 
what  a  wild,  torn,  distorted,  desolate  panorama  I  A  thin 
sprinkling  of  lavender,  rosemary,  and  myrtle  serves  but  to 
set  off  the  cold  gray  of  the  granite  rocks ;  the  summita 
rise  in  natural  bastions,  or  thrust  out  huge  fangs  or  twisted 


426  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

horns.  There  is  nowhere  any  softening  of  these  violent 
outlines.  They  print  themselves  on  the  farthest  distance, 
and  one  is  not  surprised  that  the  little  village  of  Madda- 
lena,  the  white  house  on  Caprera,  and  two  or  three  fishing- 
Huts  on  the  Sardinian  shore,  are  the  only  signs  of  human 
habitation. 

Beside  the  village,  however,  there  was  a  little  valley, 
near  the  head  of  which  a  cool,  white  villa,  perched  on  a 
mass  of  rocks,  shone  against  the  rugged  background. 

"  That  is  my  place,"  said  the  old  Englishman,  "  and  1 
shall  be  happy  to  see  you  there." 

"  I  shall  certainly  come,  if  we  have  time  enough  after 
visiting  Caprera,"  I  replied. 

The  Englishman,  an  entire  stranger,  was  very  kind  in 
his  offers  of  service ;  the  Garibaldian  was  so  pompous  and 
arrogant  in  his  manner,  that  I  soon  perceived  that  no 
assistance  could  be  expected  from  him.  Nevertheless, 
chance  threw  us  into  the  same  boat,  on  landing  in  the 
little  harbor.  I  had  ascertained  that  there  was  a  hotel, 
kept  by  one  Remigio,  in  Maddalena  ;  and  although  one  of 
"our  mutual  friends"  had  advised  me  to  go  directly  to 
Caprera,  —  Garibaldi's  hospitality  being  as  certain  as  sun- 
rise, or  the  change  of  the  tide,  —  I  determined  to  stop  with 
Remigio,  and  forward  my  letters.  When  the  Prophet  of 
the  Second  Coming  stepped  on  shore,  he  was  accosted  by 
an  old  veteran,  who  wore  a  red  shirt  and  blue  goggles. 
They  embraced  and  kissed  each  other,  and  presently  aune 
up  another  weather-beaten  person,  with  an  unmistakably 
honest  and  amiable  face,  who  was  hailed  with  the  name  of 
"  Basso !  " 

I  knew  the  name  as  that  of  one  of  Garibaldi's  most  faith- 
ful followers,  and  as  the  boat,  meanwhile,  had  been  re- 
tained to  convey  the  party  to  Caprera,  I  stepped  up  to 
Basso  and  the  Prophet  and  asked :  "  Will  one  of  you  be 
good  enough  to  take  these  letters  to  General  Garibaldi, 
and  let  the  boatman  bring  me  word  when  it  will  be  con- 
venient for  him  to  receive  me  ?  " 


THE   ISLAND   OF   MADDJiLENA.  427 

**  Certainly,"  said  the  Prophet,  taking  the  letters,  and  re- 
marking, as  he  pointed  to  Basso,  "  this  is  the  General's 
secretary," 

The  latter  made  a  modest  gesture,  disclaiming  the  honor, 
and  said :  "  No ;  you  know  that  you  are  really  his  secre- 
•tary." 

The  boat  shoved  off  with  them.  "  It  is  a  queer  com- 
pany," I  said  to  myself,  "  and  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have 
intrusted  the  letters  to  their  care."  One  letter  was  from  a 
gentleman  in  a  high  diplomatic  position,  whose  reputation 
as  a  scholar  is  world-wide,  and  who  possesses  the  most  gen- 
erous, and  at  the  same  time  the  most  intelligent,  sympathy 
with  the  aspirations  of  the  Italian  people.  The  other  was 
from  a  noble  woman,  who  has  given  the  best  energies  of 
her  life  to  the  cause,  —  who  shared  the  campaigns  of  Sicily 
jind  Calabria,  and  even  went  under  fire  at  Monte  Rotondo 
and  Mentana  to  succor  the  wounded.  Probably  no  two 
persons  had  a  better  right  to  claim  the  courtesy  of  Gari- 
baldi in  favor  of  one,  who,  though  a  stranger,  was  yet  an 
ardent  friend. 

The  Hotel  Remigio  directly  fronted  the  quay.  No  sign 
announced  its  character,  but  the  first  room  we  entered  had 
a  billiard-table,  beyond  which  was  a  kitchen.  Here  we 
found  La  Remigia,  who  conducted  us  up  a  sumptuous  stair- 
case of  black  and  white  marble  (unwashed)  into  a  shabby 
Jining-room,  and  then  left  us  to  prepare  coffee.  A  dooi 
into  an  adjoining  apartment  stood  half-open,  I  looked  in, 
but  seeing  a  naked  leg  stretched  out  upon  a  dirty  blanket, 
made  a  speedy  retreat.  In  a  quarter  of  an  hour  coffee 
came,  without  milk,  but  with  a  bottle  of  rum  instead.  The 
servitress  was  a  little  girl,  whose  hands  were  of  so  ques- 
tionable a  complexion,  that  we  turned  away  lest  we  should 
see  her  touch  the  cups.  I  need  not  say  that  the  beverage 
was  vile  ;    the  reader  will  have  already  guessed  that. 

We  summoned  La  Remigia,  to  ascertiiin  whether  a 
breakfast  was  possible.    "  Eh,  che  vuole  ?  "  ("  What  can  yon 


428  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

expect  ?  ")  said  she.     "  This  is  a  poor  little  Island.     What 
would  you  like  to  have  ?  " 

Limiting  our  wishes  to  the  probabilities  of  the  place,  we 
modestly  suggested  eggs  and  fish,  whereat  La  Remigia 
looked  relieved,  and  promised  that  we  should  have  both. 
Then,  although  the  heat  was  furious,  I  went  forth  for  a* 
stroll  along  the  shore.  A  number  of  bronze  boys  had 
pulled  off  their  tow  shirts,  and  were  either  sitting  naked 
on  the  rocks,  or  standing  in  the  shallow  coves,  and  splash- 
ing each  other  with  scallop-shells.  Two  or  three  fishing- 
boats  were  lazily  pulling  about  the  strait,  but  the  greater 
part  of  the  population  of  Maddalena  sat  in  the  shade  and 
did  nothing. 

The  place  contains  about  fifteen  hundred  inhabitants, 
but  scarcely  one  half  that  number  were  at  home.  The 
others  were  sailors,  or  coral  fishers,  who  are  always  absent 
during  the  summer  months.  The  low,  bright-colored 
houses  are  scattered  along  the  shore,  in  such  order  as  the 
huge,  upheaved  masses  of  granite  will  allow,  and  each 
street  terminates  in  a  stony  path.  In  the  scanty  garden- 
inclosures,  bristling  masses  of  the  fruit-bearing  cactus  over- 
hang the  walls,  repellant  as  the  rocks  from  which  they 
spring.  Evidently  the  place  supplies  nothing  except  the 
article  of  fish  ;  all  other  necessaries  of  life  must  be  brought 
from  Sardinia.  The  men  are  principally  pensioned  vet- 
erans of  the  Italian  navy,  who  are  satisfied  with  the  sight 
of  blue  water  and  passing  vessels ;  the  women  (rock- 
widows,  one  might  call  them),  having  the  very  simplest 
household  duties  to  perform,  usually  sit  at  their  doors, 
with  some  kind  of  knitting  or  netting,  and  chatter  with 
their  nearest  neighbors.  I  had  scarcely  walked  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  before  the  sleepy  spirit  of  the  place  took  hold  of 
my  feet,  and  I  found  myself  contemplating  the  shadowy 
spots  among  the  rocks,  much  more  than  the  wild  and 
rugged  island  scenery  across  the  strait. 

Garibaldi's  house  on  Caprera  flashed  'n  the  sun,  and 


THE   ISLAND    OP    MAI  DALENA.  429 

after  a  while  I  saw  a  boat  pulling  away  from  the  landing* 
place  below  it.  I  returned  to  the  harbor  to  meet  the  boat 
man,  and  receive  the  answer  which  my  letters  required 
It  was  a  red-headed  fellow,  with  a  face  rather  Scotch  than 
Italian,  and  a  blunt,  direct  manner  of  speech  which  cor- 
responded thereto. 

"  The  General  says  he  is  not  well,  and  can't  see  you," 
said  he. 

"  Have  you  a  letter  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No ;  but  he  told  me  so." 

••  He  is  sick,  then  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  boatman,  "  he  is  not  sick." 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  ?  " 

*'  Out  of  doors.  He  went  down  to  the  sea  this  morning 
and  took  a  bath.     Then  he  worked  in  the  garden." 

The  first  sensation  of  a  man  who  receives  an  unexpected 
blow  is  incredulity,  and  not  exasperation.  It  required  a 
slight  effort  to  believe  the  boatman's  words,  and  the  next 
impression  was  that  there  was  certainly  some  misunder- 
standing. If  Garibaldi  were  well  enough  to  walk  about 
his  fields,  he  was  able  to  receive  a  visitor ;  if  he  had  read 
the  letters  I  forwarded,  a  decent  regard  for  the  writers 
would  have  withheld  him  from  sending  a  rude  verbal  an- 
swer by  the  mouth  of  a  boatman.  The  whole  proceeding 
was  so  utterly  at  variance  with  all  I  had  heard  of  his  per- 
sonal refinement  and  courtesy,  that  I  was  driven  to  the 
suspicion  that  his  followers  had  suppressed  the  letters,  and 
represented  me,  perhaps,  as  a  stranger  of  not  very  repu- 
table appearance. 

Seeing  that  we  were  stranded  for  three  days  upon  Mad- 
dalena,  —  until  the  steamer  returned  from  Porto  Tor  'es. 
—  I  determined  to  assure  myself  whether  the  suspicion 
was  just.  I  could,  at  least,  give  the  General  a  chance  to 
correct  any  misunderstanding.  I  therefore  wrote  a  note, 
mentioning  the  letters  and  the  answer  I  had  received 
through  the  boatman  ;   referring  to  other  friends  of  his  in 


480  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

America  and  Italy,  whom  I  knew ;  assuring  him  that  I  had 
had  no  intention  of  thrusting  myself  upon  his  hospitality, 
but  had  only  meant  to  desire  a  brief  personal  interview. 
r  abstained,  of  course,  from  repeating  the  request,  as  he 
would  thus  be  able  to  grant  it  more  gracefully,  if  a  misrep* 
resentation  had  really  been  made.  Summoning  the  red- 
headed boatman,  I  gave  him  the  note,  with  the  express 
command  that  he  should  give  it  into  Garibaldi's  own 
hands,  and  not  into  those  of  any  of  the  persons  about  him. 

La  Remigia  gave  us  as  good  a  breakfast  as  the  house 
could  furnish.  The  wine  was  acutely  sour,  but  the  fish 
were  fresh  and  delicate.  Moreover,  the  room  had  been 
swept,  and  the  hands  of  the  little  servant  subjected  to 
a  thorough  washing.  There  was  a  dessert  of  cherries, 
brought  all  the  way  from  Genoa,  and  then  the  hostess,  as 
she  brought  the  coffee,  asked :  "  When  will  your  Excel- 
lencies go  to  Caprera?  " 

"  If  the  General  is  sick,"  I  remarked,  "  we  shall  prob- 
ably not  be  able  to  see  him." 

"  He  was  not  well  two  or  three  weeks  ago,"  said  she ; 
"  he  had  the  rheumatism  in  his  hands.  But  now  he  goes 
about  his  fields  the  same  as  before." 

A  second  suspicion  came  into  my  head.  What  if  the 
boatman  should  not  go  to '  Caprera  with  my  letter,  but 
merely  sleep  two  or  three  hours  in  the  shade,  and  then 
coihe  back  to  me  with  an  invented  verbal  answer  ?  It  was 
now  high  noon,  and  a  truly  African  sun  beat  down  on  the 
unsheltered  shores.  The  veterans  had  been  chased  from 
their  seats  on  the  quay,  and  sat  in  dozing,  silent  rows  on 
the  shady  sides  of  the  houses.  A  single  boat,  with  sail 
spread,  hardly  moved  over  the  dazzling  blue  of  the  harbor. 
There  was  no  sign  of  active  life  anywhere,  except  in  the 
fleas. 

Leaving  my  wife  in  La  Remigia's  care,  I  took  one  of  the 
rough  paths  behind  the  town,  and  climbed  to  a' bold  mass 
of  rocks,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  strait  from  Ca 


THE  ISLAND   OF   MADDALENA.  481 

prera  to  Sardinia.  Far  off,  beyond  the  singular  horns  and 
needles  of  rock,  cresting  the  mountains  of  the  latter  island, 
a  thunder-gust  was  brewing ;  but  the  dark,  cool  shadows 
there  only  served,  by  contrast,  to  make  the  breathless  heat 
on  Maddalena  more  intense.  Nevertheless,  a  light  wind 
fir  ally  came  from  somewhere,  and  I  stretched  myself  out 
on  the  granite,  with  Caprera  before  my  eyes,  and  reflected 
on  the  absurdity  of  any  one  human  being  taking  pains  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  any  other  particular  human 
being,  while  I  watched  the  few  boats  visible  on  the  surface 
of  the  water  below.  One,  rowing  and  sailing,  rounded  the 
point  of  San  Stefano,  and  disappeared ;  another  crept 
along  the  nearer  shore,  looking  for  fish,  coral,  or  sponges  ; 
and  a  third,  at  last,  making  a  long  tack,  advanced  into  the 
channel  of  La  Moneta,  in  front  of  Garibaldi's  residence. 
It  was  Red-head,  honestly  doing  his  duty.  Two  or  three 
hours  went  by,  and  he  did  not  return.  When  the  air  had 
been  somewhat  cooled  by  the  distant  thunder,  we  set  forth 
to  seek  the  English  recluse.  The  path  followed  the  coast, 
winding  between  rocks  and  clumps  of  myrtle  in  blossom, 
until  the  villa  looked  down  upon  us  from  the  head  of  a 
stony  dell.  On  three  sides,  the  naked  granite  rose  in  ir- 
regular piles  against  the  sky,  while  huge  blocks,  tumbled 
from  above,  lay  scattered  over  the  scanty  vineyards  below. 
In  sheltered  places  there  were  a  few  pines  and  cedars,  of 
stunted  growth.  The  house,  perched  upon  a  mass  of  rock 
forty  or  fifty  feet  high,  resembled  a  small  fortress.  As  we 
approached  it.  over  the  dry,  stony  soil,  the  bushes  rustling 
as  the  lizards  darted  through  them,  the  place  assumed  an 
air  of  savage  loneliness.  No  other  human  dwelling  was 
visible  on  any  of  the  distant  shores,  and  no  sail  brightened 
till  intervening  water. 

The  Englishman  came  forth  and  welcomed  us  with  a 
pleasant,  old-fashioned  courtesy.  A  dark-eyed  Sardinian 
lady,  whom  he  introduced  to  us  as  his  daughter-in-law,  and 
her  father,  were  his  temporary  guests.     The  people  after 


432  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

wards  told  nie,  in  iNIaddalena,  that  he  had  adopted  and 
educated  a  Neapolitan  boy,  who,  however,  had  turned  out 
to  be  a  mauvais  sujet.  We  were  ushered  into  a  large 
vaulted  room,  the  walls  of  which,  to  my  astonishment,  were 
covered  with  admirable  paintings  —  genuine  works  of  the 
Flemish  and  Italian  masters.  There  was  a  Cuyp,  a  Paul 
I'otter,  a  Ruysdael,  a  Massimo,  and  several  excellent  pic- 
tures of  the  school  of  Corregio.  A  splendid  library  filled 
the  adjoining  hall,  and  recent  English  and  Italian  news- 
papers lay  upon  the  table.  I  soon  perceived  that  our  host 
was  a  man  of  unusual  taste  and  culture,  who  had  studied 
much  and  travelled  much,  before  burying  himself  in  this 
remote  corner  of  the  Mediterranean.  For  more  than 
twenty  years,  he  informed  us,  the  island  had  been  his 
home.  He  first  went  thither  accidentally,  in  his  search  for 
health,  and  remained  because  he  found  it  among  those 
piles  of  granite  and  cactus.  One  hardly  knows  whether  to 
admire  or  commiserate  such  a  life. 

Our  host,  however,  had  long  outlived  his  yearning  for 
the  busy  world  of  men.  His  little  plantation,  wrung  from 
Nature  with  immense  labor  and  apparently  great  expense, 
now  absorbed  all  his  interest.  He  had  bought  foreign 
trees  —  Mexican,  African,  and  Australian  —  and  set  them 
in  sheltered  places,  built  great  walls  to  break  the  sweep  of 
the  wind  which  draws  through  the  Straits  of  Bonifacio, 
constructed  tanks  for  collecting  the  rains,  terraces  for  vine- 
yards, and  so  fought  himself  into  the  possession  of  a  little 
productive  soil.  But  the  winds  kept  down  the  growth  of 
his  pines,  the  islanders  cut  his  choicest  trees  and  carried 
them  off  for  fire-wood,  and  it  was  clear  that  the  scanty  be- 
ginnings we  saw  were  tne  utmost  he  would  be  able  to  keep 
and  hold  against  so  many  hostile  influences. 

After  we  had  inspected  the  costly  picture-gallery,  and 
partaken  of  refreshments,  he  took  us  to  his  orange-garden, 
a  square  inclosure,  with  walls  twenty  feet  high,  at  the  fool 
of  the  rocks.     The  interior  was  divided  by  high  rampartu 


THE  ISLAM)   OF   MADDALENA.  438 

of  woven  brushwood  into  compartments  about  thirty  feet 
square,  each  of  which  contained  half  a  dozen  squat,  bat 
tered-Iooking  trees,  I  should  have  imagined  the  outer 
walls  high  enough  to  break  the  strongest  wind,  but  our 
host  informed  me  that  they  merely  changed  its  character, 
giving  to  the  current  a  spiral  motion  which  almost  pulled 
the  trees  out  of  the  earth.  The  interior  divisions  of  brush- 
wood were  a  necessity.  Above  the  house  there  was  a  sim- 
ilar inclosure  for  pear  and  apple  trees.  The  vines,  kept 
close  to  the  earth,  and  tied  to  strong  stakes,  were  more 
easily  tended.  But  the  same  amount  of  labor  and  ex- 
pense would  have  created  a  little  paradise  on  the  shores  of 
Sorrento,  or  the  Riviera  di  Ponente ;  in  fact,  as  many 
oranges  might  have  been  raised  in  Minnesofci,  with  less 
trouble. 

According  to  the  traditions  of  the  people,  the  whole  isl- 
and was  wooded  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  But,  as 
savage  tribes  worship  trees,  so  the  first  inclination  of  the 
civilized  man  is  to  destroy  them.  I  still  hold  to  the  be- 
lief that  the  disforested  Levant  might  be  reclothed  in  fifty 
years,  if  the  people  could  be  prevented  from  interfering 
with  the  young  growth. 

When  we  reached  Maddalena,  the  boatman  had  re- 
turned from  Caprera.  This  time  he  brought  me  a  note, 
in  Garibaldi's  handwriting,  containing  two  or  three  lines, 
which,  however,  were  not  more  satisfactory  than  the  previ- 
ous message.  "  Per  motivo  de  miei  incomodi  "  (on  account 
of  my  ailments),  said  the  General,  he  could  not  receive 
me.  This  was  an  equivocation,  but  no  explanation.  His 
motive  for  slighting  the  letters  of  two  such  friends,  and  re- 
fusing to  see  one  who  had  come  to  Maddalena  to  testify  a 
sympathy  and  respect  which  had  nothing  in  con)mon  with 
the  curiosity  of  the  crowd,  remained  a  mystery.  In  the 
little  fishing-village,  where  nothing  could  long  be  kept 
secret,  the  people  seemed  to  be  aware  of  all  tha'  had  oc- 
curred. They  possessed  too  much  natural  tact  and  deli 
29 


434  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

cacy  to  question  us,  but  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they  wei« 
much  surprised.  Red-head  made  quite  a  long  face  when 
I  told  him,  after  reading  the  letter,  that  I  should  not  need 
his  boat  for  a  trip  to  Caprera. 

After  allowing  all  possible  latitude  to  a  man's  individual 
right  to  choose  his  visitors,  the  manner  in  which  my  appli- 
cation had  been  received  still  appeared  to  me  very  rude 
and  boorish.  Perhaps  one's  first  experience  of  the  kind  is 
always  a  little  more  annoying  than  is  necessary;  but  the 
reader  must  consider  that  we  had  no  escape  from  the  burn- 
ing rocks  of  Maddalena  until  the  third  day  afterwards,  and 
the  white  house  on  Caprera  before  our  eyes  was  a  constant 
reminder  of  the  manner  or  mood  of  its  inmate.  Questions 
of  courtesy  are  nearly  as  difficult  to  discuss  as  questions  of 
taste,  each  man  having  his  own  private  standard ;  yet,  I 
think,  few  persons  will  censure  me  for  having  then  and 
there  determined  that,  for  the  future,  I  would  take  no  par- 
ticular pains  to  seek  the  acquaintance  of  a  distinguished  man. 

We  were  fast  on  Maddalena,  as  I  have  said,  and  the 
most  we  could  make  of  it  did  not  seem  to  be  much.  I 
sketched  a  little  the  next  morning,  until  the  heat  drove  me 
indoors.  Towards  evening,  following  La  Remigia's  coun- 
sel, we  set  forth  on  a, climb  to  the  Guardia  Vecchia,  a 
deserted  fortress  on  the  highest  point  of  the  island.  Thun- 
der-storms, as  before,  growled  along  the  mountains  of  Sar- 
dinia, without  overshadowing  or  cooling  the  rocks  of  the 
desert  archipelago.  The  masses  of  granite,  among  which 
we  clambered,  still  radiated  the  noonday  heat,  and  the 
clumps  of  lentisk  and  arbutus  were  scarcely  less  arid  in 
appearance  than  the  soil  from  which  they  grew.  Over  the 
summit,  however,  blew  a  light  breeze.  We  pushed  open 
the  door  of  the  fort,  mounted  to  a  stone  platform  with  ram- 
parts pierced  for  six  cannon,  and  sat  down  in  the  shade  of 
the  watch-tower.  The  view  embraced  the  whole  Strait  of 
Bonifacio  and  its  shores,  from  the  peak  of  Incudine  in  Cor- 
sica, to  the  headland  of  Terranova,  on  the  eastern  ( oast  of 


THE   ISLAND   OF  MADDALENA.  485 

Sardinia.  Two  or  tliree  villages,  high  up  on  the  mountains 
of  the  latter  island,  the  little  fishing-town  at  our  feet,  the 
far-off  citadel  of  Bonifacio,  and  —  still  persistently  visible 
—  the  house  on  Caprera,  rather  increased  than  removed 
the  loneliness  and  desolation  of  the  scenery.  Island  rising 
behind  island  thrust  up  new  distortions  of  rock  of  red  or 
hot-gray  hues  which  became  purple  in  the  distance,  and  the 
iark-blue  reaches  of  sea  dividing  them  were  hard  and  life- 
less as  plains  of  glass.  Perhaps  the  savage  and  sterile 
forms  of  the  foreground  impressed  their  character  upon 
every  part  of  the  panorama,  since  we  knew  that  they  were 
everywhere  repeated.  In  this  monotony  lay  something 
sublime,  and  yet  profoundly  melancholy. 

As  we  have  now  the  whole  island  of  Caprera  full  and 
fair  before  us,  let  us  see  what  sort  of  a  spot  the  hero  of 
Italian  Unity  has  chosen  for  his  home.  I  may  at  the  same 
time,  without  impropriety,  add  such  details  of  his  life  and 
habits,  and  such  illustrations  of  his  character,  as  were 
freely  communicated  by  persons  familiar  with  both,  during 
our  stay  in  Maddalena.  • 

Caprera,  as  seen  from  the  Guardia  Vecchia,  is  a  little 
less  forbidding  than  its  neighbor  island.  It  is  a  mass  of 
reddish-gray  rock,  three  to  four  miles  in  length  and  not 
more  than  a  mile  in  breadth,  its  axis  lying  at  a  right  angle 
to  the  course  of  the  Sardinian  coast.  The  shores  rise 
steeply  from  the  water  to  a  central  crest  of  naked  rock, 
some  twelve  hundred  feet  above  the  sea.  The  wild  shrub- 
bery of  the  Mediterranean  —  myrtle,  arbutus,  lentisk.  and 
box  —  is  sprinkled  over  the  lower  slopes,  and  three  or  four 
lines  of  bright,  even  green,  betray  the  existence  of  ter- 
raced grain-fields.  The  house,  a  plain  white  quadrang'e, 
two  stories  in  height,  is  seated  on  the  slope,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  the  landing-place.  Behind  it  there  are  fields 
and  vineyards,  and  a  fertile  garden-valley  called  the  Fon- 
tanaccia.  which  are  not  visible  from  Maddalena.  The 
house,  in  its  present  commodious  form,  w*<«  built  by  Victor 


436  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

Emanuel,  during  Garibaldi's  absence  from  the  islantl,  and 
without  his  knowledge.  The  latter  has  spent  a  great  deal 
of  money  in  wresting  a  few  fields  from  the  unwilling  rock, 
and  his  possession,  even  yet,  has  but  a  moderate  value. 
The  greater  part  of  the  island  can  only  be  used  as  a  range 
for  cattle,  and  will  nourish  about  a  hundred  head. 

Garibaldi,  however,  has  a  great  advantage  over  all  the 
political  personages  of  our  day,  in  the  rugged  simplicity  of 
his  habits.  He  has  no  single  expensive  taste.  Whether 
he  sleeps  on  a  spring  mattress  or  a  rock,  eats  jilet  or  fish 
and  macaroni,  is  all  the  same  to  him  —  nay,  he  prefers  the 
simpler  fare.  The  persons  whom  he  employs  eat  at  the 
same  table  with  him,  and  his  guests,  whatever  their  char- 
acter or  title,  are  no  better  served.  An  Englishman  who 
went  to  Caprera  as  the  representative  of  certain  societies, 
and  took  with  him,  as  a  present,  a  dozen  of  the  finest  hams, 
and  four  dozen  bottles  of  the  choicest  Ch&teau  Margaux, 
was  horrified  to  find,  the  next  day,  that  each  gardener, 
herdsman,  and  fisherman  at  the  table  had  a  generous  lump 
of  ham  ^n  his  plate  and  a  bottle  of  Chateau  Margaux 
beside  it !  Whatever  delicacy  comes  to  Garibaldi  is  served 
in  the  same  way ;  and  of  the  large  sums  of  money  contrib- 
uted by  his  friends  and  admirers,  he  has  retained  scarcely 
anything.     All  is  given  to  "  The  Cause." 

Garibaldi's  three  prominent  traits  of  character  —  hon- 
esty, unselfishness,  and  independence  —  are  so  marked, 
and  have  been  so  variously  illustrated,  that  no  one  in  Italy 
(probably  not  even  Pius  IX.  or  Antonelli)  dares  to  dis- 
pute his  just  claim  to  them.  Add  the  element  of  a  rare 
and  inextinguishable  enthusiasm,  and  we  have  the  qualities 
which  have  made  the  man.  He  is  wonderfully  adapted  U.» 
be  the  leader  of  an  impulsive  and  imaginative  people,  dur- 
*ng  those  periods  when  the  rush  and  swell  of  popular  senti- 
ment overbears  alike  diplomacy  and  armed  force.  Such  a 
time  came  to  him  in  1860,  and  the  Sicilian  and  Calabrian 
campaigi:  will  always  stand  as  the  climax  of  his  achieve 


THE  ISLAND   OF   MADDALENA.  487 

merits.  I  do  not  speak  of  Aspromonte  or  Mentana  now, 
The  history  of  those  attempts  cannot  be  written  un*il  Gari* 
baldi's  private  knowledge  of  them  may  be  safely  made 
known  to  the  world. 

It  occurred  to  me.  as  I  looked  upon  Caprera,  that  only 
an  enthusiastic,  imaginative  nature  could  be  content  to  live 
in  such  an  isolation.  It  is  hardly  alone  disgust  with  the 
present  state  of  Italy  which  keeps  him  from  that  seat  in 
the  Italian  Parliament,  to  which  he  is  regularly  reelected. 
He  can  neither  use  the  tact  of  the  politician,  nor  employ 
the  expedients  of  the  statesman.  He  has  no  patience  with 
adverse  opinion,  no  clear,  objective  perception  of  character, 
no  skill  to  calculate  the  reciprocal  action  and  cumulative 
force  of  political  ideas.  He  simply  sees  an  end,  and  strikes 
a  bee-line  for  it.  As  a  military  commander  he  is  admir- 
able, so  long  as  operations  can  be  conducted  under  his  im- 
mediate personal  control.  In  short,  he  belongs  to  that 
small  class  of  great  men,  whose  achievements,  fame,  and 
influence  rest  upon  excellence  of  character  and  a  certain 
magnetic,  infectious  warmth  of  purpose,  rather  than  on 
high  intellectual  ability.  There  may  be  wiser  Italian  pat- 
riots than  he ;   but  there  is  none  so  pure  and  devoted. 

From  all  that  was  related  to  me  of  Garibaldi,  I  should 
judge  that  liis  weak  points  are,  an  incapacity  to  distin- 
guish between  the  steady  aspirations  of  his  life  and  those 
sudden  impulses  which  come  to  every  ardent  and  passion- 
ate nature,  and  an  amiable  weakness  (perhaps  not  dis- 
connected from  vanity)  which  enables  a  certain  class  of 
adventurers  to  misuse  and  mislead  him.  His  impatience 
of  contrary  views  naturally  subjects  him  to  the  influence 
of  the  latter  class,  whose  cue  it  is  to  flatter  and  encourage. 
I  know  an  American  general  whose  reputation  has  been 
much  damaged  in  tlie  same  way.  The  three  men  who 
were  his  companions  on  Caprera  during  my  stay  in  Mad- 
dalena  were  Basso,  who  occasionally  acts  as  secretary;  he 
whom  I  termed   the   Prophet,  a   certain    Dr.   Occhipinti 


4^8  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

(Painted  Eyes),  a  maker  of  salves  and  pomatums,  and 
Guzmaroli,  formerly  a  priest,  and  ignominiously  expelled 
from  Garibaldi's  own  corps.  There  are  other  hangers-on, 
whose  presence  from  time  to  time  in  Caprera  is  a  source 
of  anxiety  to  the  General's  true  friends. 

Caprera  formerly  belonged  to  an  English  gentleman,  a 
passionate  sportsman,  who  settled  there  thirty  years  ago  on 
account  of  the  proximity  of  the  island  to  the  rich  game 
regions  of  Sardinia.  Garibaldi,  dining  with  this  gentle- 
man at  Maddalena  in  1856,  expressed  his  desire  to  procure 
a  small  island  on  the  coast  for  his  permanent  home,  where- 
upon the  former  offered  to  sell  him  a  part  of  Caprera  at 
cost.  The  remainder  was  purchased  by  a  subscription 
made  in  England,  and  headed  by  the  Duke  of  Sutherland. 
I  was  informed  that  Garibaldi's  faithful  and  noble-hearted 
friends.  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Chambers  of  Scotland,  had  done 
much  towards  making  the  island  productive  and  habitable, 
but  T  doubt  whether  its  rocks  yet  yield  enough  for  the  sup- 
port of  the  family. 

The  General's  oldest  son,  Menotti,  his  daughter  Teresa, 
her  husband  Major  Canzio,  and  their  five  children,  Mameli, 
Anzani,  Lincoln,  Anita,  and  John  Brown,  have  their  home 
at  Caprera.  Menotti  is  reported  to  be  a  good  soldier  and 
sailor,  but  without  his  father's  abilities.  The  younger  son, 
Ricciotti,  spends  most  of  his  time  in  England.  Teresa, 
however,  is  a  female  Garibaldi,  full  of  spirit,  courage,  and 
enthusiasm.  She  has  great  musical  talent,  and  a  voice 
which  would  give  her,  were  there  need,  a  prima  donna's 
station  in  any  theatre.  Her  father,  also,  is  an  excellent 
singer,  and  the  two  are  fond  of  making  the  rocks  of  Ca- 
prera resound  with  his  Inno  ai  Romani. 

Garibaldi  was  born  at  Nice  in  1807,  and  is  therefore  now 
Bixty-ont,  years  old.  His  simple  habits  of  life  have  pre 
served  his  physical  vigor,  but  he  suffers  from  frequent  se 
vere  attacks  of  rheumatism.  The  wound  received  at  Aspro- 
monte,  I  was  told,  no  longer  occasions  him  inconvenience 


THE  ISLAND   OJ    MADDALENA.  489 

Tu  features  and  complexion  he  shows  his  Lombard  and  Ger 
man  descent.  His  name  is  simply  the  Italian  for  Heribald^ 
"  bold  in  war."  In  the  tenth  century  Garibald  I.  and  11. 
were  kings  of  Bavaria.  In  fact  much  of  the  best  blood  o( 
Italy  is  German,  however  reluctant  the  Italians  may  be  to 
acknowledge  the  fact.  The  Marquis  D'Azeglio,  whose 
memoirs  have  recently  been  published,  says  in  his  auto- 
biographical sketch,  "  Educated  in  the  hatred  of  the  Tedes- 
chi  (Germans),  I  was  greatly  astonished  to  find  from  my 
historical  studies,  that  I  was  myself  a  Tedesco."  The 
"pride  of  race"  really  is  one  of  the  absurdest  of  human 
vanities.  I  have  heard  half-breed  Mexicans  boast  of  their 
"  Gothic  blood,"  born  Englishmen  who  settled  in  Virginia 
talk  of  their  "  Southern  blood,"  and  all  the  changes  rung  on 
Cavalier,  Norman,  or  Roman  ancestry.  The  Slavic  Greeks 
of  Athens  call  themselves  "  Hellenes,"  and  Theodore  of 
Abyssinia  claimed  a  direct  descent  from  Solomon.  Gari- 
baldi might  have  become  purely  Italian  in  name,  as  Duca 
di  Calatafimi,  if  he  had  chosen.  His  refusal  was  scarcely  a 
virtue,  because  the  offer  of  the  title  was  no  temptation. 

The  strait  opening  eastward  to  the  sea  was  not  wholly  in 
sight  from  the  Guardia  Vecchia,  but  we  saw  enough  of  it  to 
enable  iis  to  track  the  path  of  Garibaldi's  escape,  the  previ- 
ous October.  An  intervening  point  hid  the  cove  of  Stag- 
natello,  where  he  embarked  in  his  little  boat  called  "  The 
Snipe  "  {beccacino)  :  yet  its  position  was  shown  by  the  Punta 
deir  Arcaccio  beyond.  On  the  Maddalena  shore  we  saw 
the  gardens  and  cottage  of  the  English  lady,  the  "  Hermit- 
ess  of  La  Moneta,"  who  received  him  after  his  passage  of 
the  strait,  and  concealed  him  the  following  day.  While  he 
was  thus  concealed,  he  wrote  an  account  of  the  adventure 
for  his  daughter  Teresa,  yet  so  evidently  with  an  eye  to  its 
future  publication,  that  its  style  unconsciously  reflects  the 
vein  of  vanity  which  runs  through  his  character.  Before 
leaving  his  imprisonment  at  Varignano,  he  gave  permission 
to  the  Frau  von   S ,  an  intimate  friend,  to  publish  a 


440  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

German  translation,  from  which  I  take  the  chief  part  <rf 
the  narrative  The  Italian  original  has  not  yet  been  pub- 
lished. 

Garibaldi,  who  speaks  of  himself  in  the  third  person, 
as  "  The  Solitary,"  left  his  house  on  the  evening  of  the  14th 
of  October  (1867),  accompanied  by  two  friends,  Frosci- 
anti  and  Barberini,  and  a  boatman  whom  he  calls  Gio- 
vanni. They  descended  through  the  valley  of  the  Fontanac- 
cia  to  the  cove  of  Stagnatello,  off  which,  in  the  strait,  the 
Italian  war-steamers  lay  at  anchor.  What  followed  must 
be  given  in  his  own  words:  — 

''  Having  reached  the  wall "  (at  the  bottom  of  the  culti- 
vated fields  of  the  Fontanaccia),  "  the  Solitary  took  off  his 
poncho,  and  exchanged  his  white  hat  for  a  cap  of  his  son, 
Menotti.  He  gave  the  garments,  which  he  had  removed, 
to  Barberini,  and  after  he  had  convinced  himself  that 
there  was  no  one  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  he  climbed 
upon  it,  and  sprang  down,  with  an  astonishing  activity. 

"  A  memory  of  his  adventurous  youth  inspired  him,  and 
he  felt  himself  twenty  years  younger.  Besides,  were  not 
his  sons  and  his  companions  in  arms  already  fighting 
the  mercenaries  of  the  priestly  power?  Could  he  keep 
quiet  ?  —  content  himself  with  the  pruning  of  his  trees,  and 
lead  the  shameful  life  of  the  moderati?  When  the  Sol- 
itary was  fortunately  over  the  wall,  he  said  to  Barberini : 
'  It  is  still  too  bright ;  we  will  wait  a  little  while  here,  and 
smoke  half  a  cigar.*  Thereupon  he  drew  a  match-box  — 
it  was  a  treasured  souvenir  of  the  amiable  Lady  S.  —  out 
of  his  left  pocket,  used  it,  and  then  offered  his  lighted 
'  cavour '  to  his  companion,  who  had  a  cigarette  in  readi- 
ness. The  Solitary  is  accustomed  to  cut  these  long, 
black  Tuscan  cigars  through  the  middle,  and  only  smoke 
half  a  one  at  a  time. 

"  Soon  the  nightly  shadows  began  to  obscure  the  atmos- 
ohere,  but  in  the  east  a  faint  gleam  made  itself  seen  as  the 
Herald  of  the  approaching  queen  of  night 


THE  ISLAND   OF   MAD!  AJLENA.  441 

** '  Within  three-quarters  of  an  hour  the  moon  will  have 
risen  behind  the  mountains,'  remarked  the  Solitary ;  '  we 
dare  not  longer  delay.' 

"  Both  men  arose  and  betook  themselves  to  the  little 
harbor.  Giovanni  was  there  at  his  post,  and  with  his  and 
Barberini's  help,  the  heccacino  was  soon  launched  upon  the 
water.  This  is  our  smallest  boat,  designed  for  duck-shoot- 
ing, and  so  flat  that  the  one  person  who-  has  room  therein 
must  lie  upon  the  bottom  and  propel  it  with  a  paddle.  In 
a  moment  the  Solitary  took  his  place,  lying  flat  upon  his 
poncho.  After  Giovanni  had  pushed  the  light  vessel  into 
the  sea,  and  convinced  himself  that  everything  was  prop- 
erly arranged,  he  himself  got  into  the  becca,  a  boat  built 
exactly  like  the  beccacino,  only  of  greater  dimensions,  and 
rowed,  singing  loudly,  in  the  direction  of  the  yacht 

" '  Halt !  who  goes  there  ? '  called  out  the  marines  of  the 
war-vessels,  degraded  to  algtiazils,  to  police-servants,  hail- 
ing the  boat  of  the  Sardinian,  who,  meanwhile,  did  not 
allow  himself  to  be  disturbed  either  in  his  song  or  his  joui> 
ney. 

"  But  when  a  third  challenge  came  to  his  ears  he  an- 
swered :  '  I  am  going  on  board  ! '  for,  however  without  re- 
sult the  musket-shots  might  be  in  the  darkness,  they  never 
fail  to  strike  an  inexperienced  man  with  terror.  The  Sol- 
itary, now  propelling  his  beccacino  with  strokes,  now  with  a 
small  paddle,  as  is  customary  with  the  American  canoes, 
followed  his  course  along  the  shore  of  Paviano,  between 
the  cove  of  Stagnatello  and  the  cape  of  Arcaccio  ;  and 
verily  the  huniniing-bird,  fluttering  around  the  fragrant 
flowers  of  the  torrid  zone,  and  sipping  their  honey  in 
the  manner  of  the  industrious  bee,  is  more  noisy  than  was 
the  light  beccacino,  as  it  rapidly  shot  over  the  bosom 
of  the  Tyrrhene  sea.  Arrived  at  the  Punta  dell'  Arcac- 
cio, the  Solitary  recognized  the  faithful  Froscianti  among 
the  lofty  masses  of  stone.  'Nothing  new  as  far  as  the 
rocks  of  Arcaccio,'  whispered  the  latter  from  a  distance. 


442  BY-WAYS   01    EUKOPK, 

Then  I  am  safe ! '  replied  the  Solitary,  directing  hii 
boat  with  increasing  swiftness  past  the  steep  cliffs,  un- 
til he  reached  a  point  whence  he  could  see  the  little  Rab- 
bit Isle  (the  southernmost  of  three  which  inclose  the 
harbor  of  Stagnatello)  and  then  struck  out  boldly  on  Ihe 
sea,  in  a  northwestern  direction. 

"  As  the  Solitary  perceived  how  fast  the  moonlight  in- 
creased, he  paddled  more  rapidly,  and,  driven  by  the  si- 
rocco, his  boat  passed  the  Strait  de  la  Moneta  with  a  swift- 
ness which  a  steamer  might  have  envied. 

"  By  moonlight  and  seen  at  a  certain  distance,  each  rock 
rising  out  of  the  sea  more  or  less  resembles  a  vessel,  and 
since  the  commander  of  the  Batazzi  squadron  had  laid  a 
requisition  upon  all  the  barks  of  Maddalena  in  order  to 
increase  the  number  of  boats  with  which  he  besieged 
Caprera,  it  appeared  as  if  the  little  archipelago  of  Moneta 
swarmed  with  shallops  and  boats,  all  for  the  purpose  of  hin- 
dering one  man  in  the  performance  of  his  duty. 

"  As  soon  as  the  Solitary  had  reached  the  little  island  of 
Giardinelli,  off"  the  northeastern  coast  of  Maddalena,  he 
turned  the  heccacino  into  the  labyrinth  of  rocky  reefs, 
which  lift  themselves  like  a  bulwark  along  the  shore,  and 
from  out  this  secure  concealment  he  sharply  inspected  the 
coast,  stretching  before  him  in  the  light  of  the  moon. 

*'  When  the  Solitary  found  himself  near  the  island  of 
Giardinelli,  he  saw  that  there  were  three  different  ways  by 
which  he  could  reach  the  channel  separating  it  from  Mad- 
dalena :  by  water,  paddling  around  it  either  on  the  northern 
or  the  southern  side,  or  by  landing  and  crossing  the  island 
on  foot.  After  full  consideration,  he  determined  to  try  the 
latter  plan. 

"  Whether  it  was  owing  to  the  skill  of  the  boatman  of  the 
heccacino,  or  the  neglect  of  the  unsuspicious,  sleeping  senti- 
nels, I  will  not  discuss ;  but  this  is  certain,  that  the  Sol- 
itary landed  upon  Giardinelli,  not  only  with  a  whole  skin, 
but  without  being  disturbed  by  a  single  '  Who  goes  thnre  ? ' 


THE   ISLAND   OF   MADDALENA.  44S 

Yet  he  had  scarcely  hauled  his  skiff  ashore  before  he  noticed 
that  there  were  many  impediments  in  his  way  to  the  chan 
ael ;  since  the  island,  which  serves  as  a  pasture  to  the  cat- 
tle of  Maddalena,  is  divided  into  several  fields,  all  of  which 
are  inclosed  by  high  walls,  covered  with  thorny  shrubs. 

**  When,  after  many  detours  and  much  break-neck  climb- 
ing, the  Solitary  was  about  to  pass  the  last  of  these  walls, 
he  imagined  that  he  saw  on  the  other  side  a  row  of  crouch- 
ing sailors.  If  this  were  no  optical  delusion,  it  would  not 
have  surprised  him  in  the  least,  since  it  had  been  reported 
to  him  on  Caprera,  that  several  seamen  and  soldiers  had 
landed  on  the  island  in  the  course  of  the  day.  The  loss 
of  time,  which  this  circumstance  occasioned  to  the  Solitary- 
explained  also  to  him,  why  two  of  his  friends,  whom  he 
should  have  found  near  the  channel,  were  not  at  their 
posts. 

*'  It  was  not  until  ten  o'clock,  and  after  he  had  looked 
very  sharply  about  him,  that  the  Solitary  undertook  to  cross 
the  shallow  arm  of  the  sea  which  divides  Giardinelli  from 
Maddalena.  He  had  not  taken  ten  steps  when  loud  calls 
from  the  watching  war-vessels,  accompanied  with  musket- 
shots,  were  heard  —  but  this  did  not  disconcert  the  Solitary 
in  his  zealous  passage  through  the  salt  flood.  He  soon  had 
the  critical  passage  behind  him,  and  set  foot  upon  Madda- 
lena. But  a  very  fatiguing  way  was  still  before  him,  for 
his  boots,  filled  with  water,  creaked  and  incommoded  him 
on  the  uneven  ground. 

"  When,  finally,  the  sight  of  the  house  of  Mrs.  C. 
showed  the  Solitary  the  vicinity  of  a  hospitable  refuge,  he 
strode  more  cautiously  forward,  through  fear  that  the  villa 
might  be  surrounded  by  spies ;  and  only  when  a  cloud 
covered  the  moon,  did  he  dare  to  knock  lightly  upon  one 
of  the  windows  with  his  Scotch  stick.  Mrs.  C,  however, 
had  had  faith  in  the  Solitary's  lucky  star.  Advised  in  ad- 
vance of  his  plan,  she  had  been  keenly  listening  to  his  foot- 
steps, so  that  at  the  first  tap  on  the  window,  she  hurried 


444  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

from  the  door,  and  welcomed  her  old  neighbor  with  hei 
accustonied  gracious  smile." 

All  the  next  day  Garibaldi  remained  concealed  in  the 
English  lady's  cottage.  The  following  night  he  crossed 
from  the  northern  shore  of  Maddalena  to  Sardinia,  where 
his  friends  had  a  sloop  in  readiness.  In  three  or  four  days 
more  he  was  in  Tuscany,  and  the  Italian  Government  was 
astounded  at  his  appearance  in  Florence  before  his  escape 
from  Caprera  had  been  discovered  by  the  blockading 
squadron. 

While  upon  the  rocky  summits  of  Maddalena,  we  made 
search  for  the  former  dwellings  of  the  inhabitants,  but  be- 
came bewildered  in  the  granite  labyrinth,  and  failed  to  find 
them.  The  present  village  on  the  shore  owes  its  existence 
to  Nelson.  Previous  to  his  day  those  waters  were  swept  by 
Barbary  corsairs,  and  the  people  of  the  island,  being  with- 
out protection,  lived  almost  like  troglodytes,  in  rude  hovels 
constructed  among  the  rocks.  Nelson,  while  in  the  Med- 
iterranean, at  the  end  of  the  last  century,  made  Maddalena 
one  of  his  stations,  and  encouraged  the  inhabitants  to  come 
forth  from  their  hiding-places.  On  the  altar  of  the  church 
in  the  town  which  they  then  began  to  build  there  are  still 
the  silver  candlesticks  which  he  presented.  This,  and 
Napoleon's  previous  attempt  to  gain  possession  of  the 
island,  are  the  two  incidents  which  connect  Maddalena 
with  history. 

We  made  a  few  other  scrambles  during  our  stay,  but  they 
simply  repeated  the  barren  pictures  we  already  knew  by 
heart.  Although,  little  by  little,  an  interest  in  the  island 
was  awakened,  the  day  which  was  to  bring  the  steamer  from 
Porto  Torres  was  hailed  by  us  almost  as  a  festival.  But 
the  comedy  (for  such  it  began  to  seem)  was  not  yet  at  an 
end.  1  had  procured  the  return  tickets  to  Leghorn,  and 
was  standing  in  Remigia's  door,  watching  tne  pensioners  as 
they  dozed  in  the  shade,  when  two  figures  appeared  at  the 
end  of  the  little  street.   One  was  Painted-Eyes,  the  makei 


THE  ISLAND  OF  MADDALENa  446 

of  salves,  and  I  was  edified  by  seeing  him  suddenly  turn 
when  he  perceived  me,  and  retrace  his  steps.  The  other, 
who  came  forward,  proved  to  be  one  of  Garibaldi's  stanch- 
est  veterans,  —  a  man  who  had  been  in  his  service  twenty^ 
five  years,  in  Montevideo,  Rome,  America,  China,  and 
finally  in  the  Tyrol. 

"  Where  is  the  man  who  was  with  you  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  was  coming  to  the  locanda,"  said  he ;  "  but  when 
he  saw  you,  he  left  me  without  explaining  why." 

The  veteran  knew  so  much  of  what  had  happened  that 
I  told  him  the  rest.  He  was  no  less  grieved  than  sur- 
prised. His  general,  he  said,  had  never  acted  so  before ; 
he  had  never  refused  to  see  any  stranger,  even  though  he 
came  without  letters,  and  he  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it. 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  idlers  on  the  quay  ;  a  thread 
of  smoke  arose  above  the  rocky  point  to  the  westward,  and 
—  welcome  sight !  —  the  steamer  swept  up  and  anchored 
in  the  roadstead.  La  Remigia,  who  had  been  unremitting 
in  her  attentions,  presented  a  modest  bill,  shook  hands 
with  us  heartily,  and  Red-head,  who  was  in  waiting  with 
his  boat,  carried  us  speedily  on  board.  The  steamer  was 
not  to  leave  for  two  hours  more,  but  now  the  certainty  of 
escape  was  a  consolation.  The  few  islanders  we  had 
known  parted  from  us  like  friends,  and  even  the  boatman 
returned  to  the  deck  on  purpose  to  shake  hands,  and  wish 
us  a  pleasant  voyage.  I  found  myself  softening  towards 
Maddalena.  after  all. 

In  one  of  the  last  boats  came  the  same  Occhipinti  again, 
accompanied  by  Guzmaroli,  the  ex-priest.  The  former 
was  bound  for  Leghorn,  and  the  prospect  of  having  him 
for  a  fellow-passenger  was  not  agreeable.  He  avoided 
meeting  us.  went  below,  and  kept  very  quiet  during  the 
passao-e.  I  felt  sure,  although  the  supposition  was  dispar- 
aging to  Garibaldi,  that  this  man  was  partly  responsible 
for  the  answer  I  had  received. 


446  BY-WAYS  OF  EUBCPV.. 

A  fresh  breeze  blew  through  the  Strait  of  Bonifacio,  ai  i 
we  soon  lost  sight  of  the  rocks  which  had  been  the  scene 
of  our  three  days'  Robinsoniad.  The  only  other  passen- 
ger, by  a  singular  coincidence,  proved  to  be  "  the  Hermit- 
ess  of  La  Moneta,"  as  she  is  called  on  Maddalena,  —  the 
widow  of  the  gentleman  who  sold  Caprera  to  Garibaldi, 
and  herself  one  of  the  General's  most  trusted  friends. 
Through  her,  the  island  acquired  a  new  interest.  In  the 
outmost  house  on  the  spur  which  forms  the  harbor  lay  an 
English  captain,  eighty  years  old,  and  ill ;  in  the  sterile  glen 
to  the  north  lived  another  Englishman  alone  among  his 
books  and  rare  pictures ;  and  under  a  great  rock,  two  miles 
to  the  eastward,  was  a  lonely  cottage,  opposite  Caprera, 
where  this  lady  has  lived  for  thirty  years. 

In  the-  long  twilight,  as  the  coast  of  Corsica  sped  by,  we 
heard  the  story  of  those  thirty  years.  They  had  not  dulled 
the  keen,  clear  intellect  of  the  lady,  nor  made  less  warm 
one  human  feeling  in  her  large  heart.  We  heard  of  trav- 
els in  Corsica  on  horseback  nearly  forty  years  ago ;  of 
hmching  with  bandits  in  the  mountains  ;  of  fording  the 
floods  and  sleeping  in  the  caves  of  Sardinia ;  of  farm-life 
(if  it  can  be  so  called)  on  Caprera,  and  of  twenty  years 
passed  in  the  cottage  of.  La  Moneta,  without  even  a  jour- 
ney to  the  fishing-village.  Then  came  other  confidences, 
which  must  not  be  repeated,  but  as  romantic  as  anything 
in  the  stories  of  the  Middle  Ages  —  yet  in  all,  there  was 
no  trace  of  morbid  feeling,  of  unused  affection,  of  regret 
for  the  years  that  seemed  lost  to  us.  Verily,  though  these 
words  should  reach  her  eyes,  I  must  say,  since  the  chances 
of  life  will  scarcely  bring  us  together  again,  that  the  fresh- 
ness and  sweetness  with  which  she  had  preserved  so  many 
noble  womanly  qualities  in  solitude,  was  to  me  a  cheering 
revelation  of  the  innate  excellence  of  human  nature. 

"  Yet,"  she  said,  at  the  close,  "  I  would  nev^r  advise  any 
one  to  attempt  the  life  I  have  led.  Such  a  seclusion  is 
nei'vher  natural  nor  healthy.     One   may  read,  and  one  may 


THE  ISLAND   OF  MADDALENA.  447 

think ;  but  the  knowledge  lies  in  one's  mind  like  an  inert 
mass,  and  only  becomes  vital  when  it  is  actively  communi- 
cated or  compared.  This  mental  inertness  or  deadness  is 
even  harder  to  bear  than  the  absence  of  society.  But 
there  always  comes  a  time  when  we  need  the  face  of  a 
friend  —  the  time  that  comes  to  all.  No,  it  is  not  good  to 
be  alone." 

After  all,  we  had  not  come  to  Maddalena  in  vain.  We 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  rare  and  estimable  nature 

—  which  is  always  a  lasting  gain,  in  the  renewed  faith  it 
awakens.  The  journey,  which  had  seemed  so  wearisome 
in  anticipation,  came  rapidly  to  an  end,  and  there  was 
scarcely  a  regret  left  for  Caprera  when  we  parted  with  the 
Hermitess  of  Maddalena  at  Leghorn,  the  next  afternoon. 
A  few  days  afterwards  she  sent  me  the  original  manuscript 
of  Garibaldi's  "  Hynm  to  the  Romans,"  which  he  had  pre- 
sented to  her.  I  shall  value  it  as  much  for  the  giver's,  as 
for  the  writer's  sake. 

Our  friends  in  Florence  received  the  news  of  our  adven- 
ture with  astonishment  and  mortification  ;  but,  up  to  the 
time  of  this  present  writing,  the  matter  remains  a  mystery. 
One  conjecture  was  made,  yet  it  seemed  scarcely  credible, 

—  that  Garibaldi  was  getting  up  a  new  expedition  against 
Rome. 

A  short  time  after  my  trip  to  Maddalena,  a  German 
professor  of  note,  who  had  a  special  interest  in  communi- 
cating personally  with  Garibaldi,  made  the  journey  from 
Germany  for  that  solo  purpose,  and  was  similarly  repelled. 


IN  THE  TEUTOBURGER  FOREST. 


No  part  of  Germany  is  so  monotonous  and  unlovely  as 
that  plain  which  the  receding  waves  of  the  North  Sea  left 
behind  them.  The  stranger  who  lands  at  Bremen  or 
Hamburg  enters  upon  a  dead,  sandy  level,  where  fields  of 
lean  and  starveling  cereals  interchange  with  heathery  moor- 
lands and  woods  of  dwarfish  pine.  Each  squat,  ugly  farm- 
house looks  as  lonely  as  if  there  were  no  others  in  sight ; 
the  villages  are  collections  of  similar  houses,  huddled 
around  a  church-tower  so  thick  and  massive  that  it  seems 
to  be  the  lookout  of  a  fortress.  The  patient  industry  of 
the  people  is  here  manifested  in  its  plainest  and  sturdiest 
forms,  and  one  cannot  look  for  the  external  embellish- 
ments of  life,  where  life  itself  is  so  much  of  an  achieve- 
ment. 

As  we  advance  southward  the  scenery  slowly  imprrres. 
The  soil  deepens  and  the  trees  rise ;  the  purple  heAther 
clings  only  to  the  occasional  sandy  ridges,  between  which 
greenest  meadows  gladden  our  eyes.  Groves  of  oak  make 
their  appearance  ;  brooks  wind  and  sparkle  among  alder 
thickets ;  the  low  undulations  swell  into  broad,  gently 
rounded  hills,  and  at  last  there  is  a  wavy  blue  line  along 
the  horizon.  If  you  are  travelling  from  Hanover  to  Min- 
den,  some  one  will  point  out  a  notch,  or  gap,  in  that  rising 
mountain  outline,  and  tell  you  that  it  is  the  Porta  "West- 
phalica  —  the  gateway  by  which  the  river  Weser  issues 
from  the  Teutoburger  Forest 

I  had  already  explored  nearly  every  nook  of  Middle 
Germany,  from  the  Hartz  to  the  Odenwald  ;  yet  this  —  the 
storied  ground  of  the  race  —  was  still  an  unknown  region. 
Although   so  accessible,   especially   from    the   celebrated 


4/)2  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

watering-place  of  Pyrmont,  whence  any  of  its  many  points 
of  interest  may  be  reached  in  a  day's  drive,  I  found  little 
about  it  in  the  guide-books,  and  less  in  books  of  traveL 
Yet  here,  one  may  say,  is  the  starting-point  of  Grerman 
history.  Hermann  and  Wittekiiid  are  the  two  great  rep- 
resentatives of  the  race,  in  its  struggles  against  Roman 
and  Christian  civilization  ;  and  the  fact  that  it  adopted  both 
the  one  and  the  other,  and  through  them  developed  into 
its  later  eminence,  does  not  lessen  the  value  of  those 
names.  Indeed,  the  power  of  resistance  measures  the 
power  of  acceptance  and  assimilation. 

It  was  harvest-time  as  I  sped  by  rail  towards  Minden, 
along  the  northern  base  of  the  mountains.  Weeks  of 
drought  and  heat  had  forced  the  fields  into  premature  ripe- 
ness, and  the  lush  green  meadows  were  already  waiting 
for  the  aftermath.  About  Buckeburg  the  rye-fields  were 
full  of  reapers,  in  an  almost  extinct  costume,  —  the  men 
in  heavy  fur  caps,  loose  white  over-shirts,  and  boots  reach- 
ing to  the  knee  ;  the  women  with  black  head-dress,  bodice, 
and  bright  scarlet  petticoat.  These  tints  of  white,  scarlet, 
and  black  shone  splendidly  among  the  sheaves,  and  the 
pictures  I  saw  made  me  keenly  regret  that  progress  has 
rendered  mankind  so  commonplace  in  costume.  When  I 
first  tramped  through  Germany,  in  1845,  every  province 
had  its  distinctive  dress,  and  the  stamp  of  the  country 
people  was  impressed  upon  the  landscapes  of  their  homes  ; 
but  now  a  great  leveling  wave  has  swept  over  the  country, 
washing  out  all  these  picturesque  characteristics,  and  leav- 
ing the  universal  modern  commonplace  in  their  stead.  If 
the  latter  were  graceful,  or  cheap,  or  practically  conven- 
ient, we  might  accept  the  change ;  but  it  is  none  of  these. 
Fashion  has  at  last  combined  ugliness  and  discomfort  in 
our  clothing,  and  the  human  race  is  satisfied. 

Soon  after  leaving  Minden  the  road  bends  sharply  south- 
wards, and  enters  the  Porta  West  phalica  —  a  break  in  the 
Weser  mountains  which  is  abrupt  and  lofty  enough  to  pes- 


I>'    THE   TEUTOBUKGER   FOREST.  458 

sess  a  Certain  grandeur.  The  eastern  bank  rises  from  the 
water  in  a  broken,  rocky  wall  to  the  height  of  near  five 
hundred  feet ;  the  western  slants  sufficiently  to  allow  foot- 
hold for  trees,  and  its  summit  is  two  hundred  feet  higher. 
The  latter  is  called  "  Wittekind's  Mount,"  from  a  tradition 
that  the  famous  Saxon  king  once  had  a  fortress  upon  it. 
Somewhere  in  the  valley  which  lies  within  this  Westpha- 
lian  Gate  is  the  scene  of  the  last  battle  between  Hermann 
and  Germanicus.  Although  the  field  of  action  of  both 
these  leaders  extended  over  the  greater  part  of  Northern 
Germany,  the  chief  events  which  decided  their  fortunes 
took  place  within  the  narrow  circle  of  these  mountains. 

I  passed  through  Oeynhausen,  —  a  bright,  cheerful  wa- 
teritig-place,  named  after  the  enterprising  baron  who  drove 
an  artesian  shaft  to  the  depth  of  two  thousand  feet,  and 
brought  a  rich  saline  stream  to  the  surface,  —  and  at  Her- 
ford,  the  next  station,  left  the  line  of  rail.  I  looked  in 
vain  for  the  towers  of  Enger,  a  league  or  so  to  the  west, 
where  Wittekind  died  as  a  Christian  prince,  and  where  his 
bones  still  rest.  Before  turning  aside  for  Detmold  and  the 
hills  of  the  Teutoburger  Forest,  let  me  very  briefly  recall 
the  career  of  that  spiritual  successor  of  Hermann. 

Nothing  certain  is  known  of  Wittekind's  descent  or  early 
history.  We  first  hear  of  'him  as  one  of  the  leaders  of  the 
Saxons  in  the  invasion  of  Westphalia,  which  they  under- 
took in  the  year  774,  while  Charlemagne  was  occupied  in 
subduing  the  Lombards.  Three  years  later,  when  this 
movement  was  suppressed  and  the  greater  part  of  the 
Saxon  chiefs  took  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  Emperor  at 
Paderborn,  Wittekind  fled  to  the  court  of  his  brother-in- 
law.  King  Siegfried  of  Jutland.  He  returned  in  778,  while 
Charlemagne  was  in  Spain,  driving  back  the  Saracens, 
and  devastated  the  lands  of  the  Rhine.  After  carrying  on 
the  war  with  varying  success  for  four  years,  he  finally  sur- 
prised and  almost  annihilated  the  Frank  army  at  the  Siin- 
telberg,  not  fur  from  Hameln,  on  the  Weser.     Enraged  at 


464  BY-WAYS   OF   EUROPE. 

his  defeat,  Charlemagne  took  a  horrible  revenge :  he  exe 
cuted  forty-five  hundred  Saxons,  who  were  in  his  hands 
All  the  tribes  rose  in  revolt,  acknowledged  Wittekind  m 
their  king,  and  for  three  years  more  continued  the  desper- 
ate struggle,  the  end  of  which  was  a  compromise.  Witte- 
kind received  Christian  baptism,  was  made  duke  of  Saxony, 
and,  according  to  tradition,  governed  the  people  twenty 
years  longer,  from  his  seat  at  Enger,  as  a  just  and  humane 
prince.  The  Emperor  Karl  IV.  there  built  him  a  monu- 
ment in  the  year  1377. 

At  Herford  I  took  my  place  in  the  diligence  for  Det- 
mold,  with  a  horse-dealer  for  company  on  the  way.  It  wa? 
a  journey  of  three  hours,  through  a  very  pleasant  and 
beautiful  country,  lying  broad  and  warm  in  the  shelter 
of  circling  mountains,  veined  with  clear,  many-branched 
streams,  and  wooded  with  scattered  groves  of  oak  and 
beech.  If  there  was  any  prominent  feature  of  the  scenery, 
as  distinguished  from  that  of  other  parts  of  Germany,  it 
was  these  groves,  dividing  the  bright  meadows  and  the  gol- 
den slopes  of  harvest,  with  their  dark,  rounded  masses  of 
foliage,  as  in  the  midland  landscapes  of  England.  The 
hills  to  the  south,  entirely  clothed  with  forests,  increased 
in  height  as  we  fo'x)wed  their  course  in  a  parallel  line,  and 
long  before  we  reached  Detmold  I  saw  the  monument  to 
Hermann,  crowning  the  Grotenburg,  a  summit  more  than 
a  thousand  feet  above  the  valley. 

The  little  capital  was  holding  its  annual  horse-fair,  yet  1 
had  no  trouble  in  finding  lodgings  at  one  of  its  three  inns, 
and  should  have  thought  the  streets  deserted  if  I  had  not 
been  told  that  they  were  unusually  lively.  The  princi- 
pality of  Lippe  has  a  population  of  a  little  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand,  yet  none  of  the  appurtenances  of  a 
court  and  state  are  wanting.  There  is  an  old  ancestral 
castle,  a  modem  palace,  a  theatre,  barracks  and  govern- 
ment buildings  —  not  so  large  as  in  Berlin,  to  be  sure, 
but  just  as  important  in  the  eyes  of  the  people.     A  stream 


IN  THE   TEUTOBURGER  FOREST.  45f. 

which  comes  down  from  the  mountains  feeds  a  broad,  still 
moat,  encompassing  three  sides  of  the  old  castle  and  park 
beyond  which  the  fairest  meadows  stretch  gway  to  the  set- 
ting sun.  Ducks  and  geese  on  the  water,  children  pad- 
dling in  the  shallows,  cows  coming  home  from  the  pastures, 
and  men  and  women  carrying  hay  or  vegetables,  suggested 
a  quiet  country  village  rather  than  a  stately  residenz ;  but 
I  was  very  careful  not  to  say  so  to  any  Detmolder.  The 
repose  and  seclusion  of  the  place  took  hold  of  my  fancy : 
I  walked  back  and  forth,  through  the  same  streets  and  lin 
den-shaded  avenues  in  the  long  summer  evening,  finding 
idyls  at  every  turn  ;  but  alas  !  they  floated  formlessly  by 
and  faded  in  the  sunset. 

Detmold  is  the  birthplace  of  the  poet  Freiligrath,  and  I 
went  into  the  two  bookstores  to  see  if  they  kept  his  poems 
—  which  they  did  not  Fifty  years  hence,  perhaps,  they 
will  have  a  statue  of  him.  As  I  sat  in  my  lonely  room  at 
the  inn,  waiting  for  bedtime,  my  thoughts  went  back  to 
that  morning  by  the  lake  of  Zurich,  when  I  first  met  the 
banished  poet ;  to  pleasant  evenings  at  his  house  in  Hack- 
ney ;  and  to  the  triumphant  reception  which,  at  Cologne,  a 
few  days  before,  had  welcomed  him  back  to  Germany. 
This  was  the  end  of  twenty-three  years  of  exile,  the  be- 
ginning of  which  I  remembered.  Noble,  unselfish,  and 
consistent  as  his  political  course  had  been,  had  he  followed 
it  to  his  detriment  as  a  poet,  or  had  he  bridged  the  gulf 
which  separates  the  Muses  from  party  conflicts?  That  was 
the  question,  and  it  was  not  so  easy  to  resolve.  Poesy  will 
cheer  as  a  friend,  but  she  will  not  serve.  She  will  not  be 
driven  from  that  broad  field  of  humanity,  wherein  the  noise 
of  parlies  is  swallowed  up,  and  the  colors  of  their  banners 
are  scarcely  to  be  distinguished.  Freiligrath  has  written 
the  best  political  poems  in  the  German  language,  and  his 
life  has  been  the  brilliant  illustration  of  his  principles ;  yet 
I  doubt  whether  "The  Dead  to  the  Living  "w  31  outlive 
the  '•  Lion-Ride." 


456  BY-WAYS   OP  EUROPE. 

1  picked  up,  however,  a  description  of  the  Teutoburget 
Forest,  written  by  the  Cantor  Sauerlander  of  Detniold  — 
a  httle  book  which  no  one  but  a  full-blooded  Teuton  could 
have  written.  Fatiguingly  minute,  conscientious  to  the  last 
degree,  overflowing  with  love  for  the  subject,  exhaustive 
on  all  points,  whether  important  or  not,  the  style  —  or, 
rather,  utter  lack  of  style  —  so  placed  the  unsuspecting  au- 
thor before  the  reader's  mind,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
mistake  him,  —  a  mild,  industrious,  harmless  egotist,  who 
talks  on  and  on,  and  never  once  heeds  whether  you  are 
listening  to  his  chatter. 

I  took  him  with  me,  but  engaged,  in  addition,  a  young 
gardener  of  the  town,  and  we  set  out  in  the  bright,  hot 
morning.  My  plan  for  the  day  embraced  the  monument 
to  Hermann  on  the  Grotenburg,  the  conjectured  field  of 
the  defeat  of  Varus,  and  the  celebrated  Extern  Rocks. 
Cool  paths  through  groves  of  oak  led  from  the  town  to  the 
foot  of  the  mountain,  having  reached  which  I  took  out  the 
Cantor,  and  read :  '•  From  this  point  to  the  near  forest  the 
foot-path  moimts  by  a  very  palpable  grade,  wherefore  the 
wanderer  will  find  himself  somewhat  fatigued,  besides  suf- 
fering (frequently)  from  the  burning  rays  of  the  sun, 
against  which,  however,  it  is  possible  to  screen  one's  self 
by  an  umbrella,  for  which  reason  1  would  venture  to'  sug- 
gest a  moderate  gait,  and  observant  pauses  at  various 
points ! "  Verily,  if  his  book  had  been  specially  prepared 
for  the  reigning  prince,  Paul  Friedrich  Emil  Leopold,  he 
could  not  have  been  more  considerate. 

The  fatiguing  passage,  nevertheless,  was  surmounted  in 
ten  minutes,  and  thenceforth  we  were  in  the  shade  of  the 
forest  At  about  two  thirds  of  the  height  the  path  came 
upon  a  Hunenring,  or  Druid  circle,  one  of  the  largest  in  Ger- 
many. It  is  nearly  five  hundred  feet  in  diameter,  with 
openings  on  the  north  and  south,  and  the  walls  of  rough 
stones  are  in  some  places  twenty  feet  high.  Large  trees 
are  growing  upon  them.     There  was  another  and  greatef 


IN  THE   TEUTOBXJRGER   FOREST.  451 

ring  around  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  but  it  has  been 
thrown  down  and  almost  obliterated.  German  antiquari- 
ans consider  these  remains  as  a  sufficient  evidence  to  prove 
that  this  is  the  genuine  Teutoburg,  —  the  fortress  of  Teut, 
or  Tuisco,  the  chief  personage  of  the  original  Teutonic 
mythology.  They  also  derive  the  name  of  Detmold  from 
" 'ltieo«  nialle,"  the  place  of  Teut.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
as  to  the  character  of  the  circles,  or  their  great  antiquity  ; 
and,  moreover,  to  locate  the  Teutoburg  here  explains  the 
desperate  resistance  of  the  tribes  of  this  region  both  to 
Rome  and  to  Charlemagne. 

Near  the  sununit  I  found  some  traces  of  the  greater 
circle,  many  of  the  stones  of  which  were  used,  very  appro- 
priately, for  the  foundation  of  the  monument  to  Hermann. 
This  structure  stands  in  an  open,  grassy  space,  inclosed 
by  a  young  growth  of  fir-trees.  It  is  still  incomplete  ;  but 
we,  who  long  ago  stopped  work  on  the  colossal  Washing- 
ton obelisk,  have  no  right  to  reproach  the  German  people. 
Thirty  years  ago  the  Bavarian  sculptor  Von  Bandel  exhib- 
ited the  design  of  a  statue  to  Hermann.  The  idea  ap- 
pealed to  that  longing  for  German  unity  the  realization  of 
which  seemed  then  so  far  distant ;  societies  were  formed, 
collect:?ns  made,  fairs  held  for  the  object,  and  the  temple- 
shaped  pedestal,  commenced  in  1841,  was  finished  in 
1846,  at  a  cost  of  forty  thousand  thalers.  The  colossal 
statue  which  should  crown  it  demanded  an  equal  sura  — 
two  thirds  of  which,  I  am  told,  has  been  contributed. 
Parts  of  the  figure  have  been  already  cast,  and  the 
sculptor,  now  nearly  seventy  years  old,  still  hopes  to  see 
the  dream  of  his  life  fulfilled.  But  the  impression  has 
gone  abroad  that  the  strength  of  the  winds,  sweeping  un- 
cbeckc.  from  the  Rhine  and  from  Norway  across  the 
Northern  Sea,  is  so  great  upon  this  Teutoburger  height, 
that  the  statue  would  probably  be  thrown  down,  if  erected. 
A  committee  of  architects  and  engineers  has  declared  that, 
with  proper  anchorage,  tlie  figure  will  stand ;  yet  the  COD* 
tributions  have  ceased. 


458  BY-WAYS   OF  EUROPE. 

The  dovsigii  of  the  temple-base  is  very  simple  and  inaft> 
sive.  Oil  a  circular  foundation,  sixty  feet  in  diameter  bj 
eleven  in  height,  stands  a  structure  composed  of  tei  clus- 
tered pillars,  connected  by  pointed  arches,  the  outer  spans 
of  which  are  cut  to  represent  stems  of  oak,  while  heavy 
garlands  of  oak-leaves  are  set  in  the  triangular  interspaces. 
The  first  rude  beginning  of  Gothic  art  is  here  suggested, 
not  as  a  growth  from  the  Byzantine  and  Saracenic  schools, 
but  as  an  autochthonous  product  Over  the  cornice,  which  is 
fifty  feet  above  the  base,  rises  a  solid  hemisphere  of  ma- 
sonry, terminating  in  a  ring  twenty-five  feet  in  diameter, 
which  is  to  receive  the  metal  base  of  the  colossus.  The 
latter  will  be  ninety  feet  in  height  to  the  point  of  the 
sword,  making  the  entire  height  of  the  monument  a  hun- 
dred and  eighty-two  feet. 

I  mounted  to  the  summit,  and  looked  over  the  tops  of 
the  forest  upon  a  broad  and  beautiful  panoramic  ring  of 
landscape.  The  well-wooded  mountains  of  the  region 
divided  the  rich  valleys  and  harvest  lands  which  they 
inclosed.  On  all  sides  except  the  west  they  melted  away 
in  the  summer  haze;  there,  they  sank  into  the  tawny 
Westphalian  plain,  once  the  land  of  marshes,  traversed 
by  the  legions  of  Varus.  While  yonder,  beyond  the  ring 
of  the  forest  sacred  to  Teut,  the  fields  were  withering 
and  the  crops  v/asting  in  the  sun,  here  they  gave  their 
fullest  bounty  ;  here  the  streams  were  full,  the  meadows 
green,  and  the  land  laughed  with  its  abundance.  From 
this  point  I  overlooked  all  the  great  battle-«fields  of  Her- 
mann and  Wittekind.  The  mountains  do  not  constitute,  as 
1  had  supposed,  a  natural  stronghold  ;  but  in  their  heart 
lies  the  warmest  and  most  fertile  region  of  Northern  Ger- 
many. 

In  the  neighboring  hostelry  there  is  a  plaster  model  of 
the  waiting  statue.  Hermann,  with  the  winged  helmet 
upon  his  head,  and  clad  in  a  close  leathern  coat  reaching 
nearly  to  the  knee,  is  represented  as  addressing  his  war- 


IN   THE   TEUTOBUBGER   FOKFST.  469 

riors.  The  action  of  the  uplifted  arm  is  good,  but  the  left 
hand  rests  rather  idly  upon  the  shield,  instead  of  uncon- 
sciously repeating  in  the  grip  of  the  fingers  the  energy  of 
the  rest  of  the  figure.  The  face  —  ideal,  of  course  —  is 
quite  as  much  Roman  as  Teuton,  the  nose  being  aquiline, 
the  eyebrows  straight,  and  the  lips  very  clearly  and  regu- 
larly cut.  To  me  the  physiognomy  would  indicate  dark  hair 
and  beard.  I  found  the  body  somewhat  heavy  and  un- 
graceful ;  but  as  it  was  to  be  seen  from  below,  and  in  very 
different  dimensions,  the  effect  may  be  all  that  is  de- 
signed. 

In  the  Hall  of  Busts  in  the  Museum  of  the  Capitol,  in 
Borne,  there  is  a  head  which  has  recently  attracted  the 
interest  of  German  archaeologists.  It  stands  alone  among 
the  severe  Roman  and  the  exquisitely  balanced  Grecian 
heads,  like  a  genial  phenomenon  of  character  totally  distinct 
from  theirs.  When  I  stood  before  it,  a  little  puzzled,  and 
wondering  at  the  absurd  label  of  "  Cecrops  ?  "  affixed  to 
the  pedestal,  1  had  not  learned  the  grounds  for  conjectur- 
ing that  it  may  be  a  portrait  of  him  whom  Tacitus  calls 
Arminius ;  yet  I  felt  that  here  was  a  hero,  of  whom  history 
mtist  have  some  knowledge.  It  is  certainly  a  blonde  head, 
with  abundant  locks,  a  beard  sprouting  thinly  and  later  than 
in  the  South,  strong  cheek-bones,  a  nose  straight  but  not 
Grecian,  and  lips  which  somehow  express  good  fellowship, 
vanity,  and  the  habit  of  command.  The  sculptor  Bandel 
made  a  great  mistake  in  not  boldly  accepting  the  conjec- 
ture as  fact,  and  giving  Hermann  this  head.  Dr.  Emil 
Braun  considers  that  it  is  undoubtedly  a  bust  of  one  of 
the  young  German  chiefs  who  were  educated  at  the  court 
of  Augustus ;  and  he  adds,  very  truly,  "  If  this  can  be 
proven,  it  will  be  of  great  importance  as  a  testimony  of 
the  intellectual  development  of  the  German  race,  even  in 
those  early  times." 

Hermann,  who  was  born  in  the  year  16  b.  c,  must  have 
gone  to  Rome  as  a  boy,  during  the  campaigns  of  Drusus 


460  BY-WAYS   OF  EUBOPE. 

and  Tiberius  in  Northern  Germany.  He  became  not  onlj 
a  citizen,  but  a  Roman  knight,  was  intrusted  with  the  com 
niand  of  a  German  legion,  and  fought  in  Pannonia.  He 
acquired  the  Latin  tongue,  and  acquainted  himself  with 
the  military  and  civil  science  of  the  Romans.  Had  the 
wise  and  cautious  policy  of  Tiberius  been  followed,  he 
might  have  died  as  a  Consul  of  the  Empire ;  but  the 
brutal  rule  of  Varus  provoked  the  tribes  to  resistance,  and 
Hermann  became  a  German  again.  He  turned  against 
Rome  the  tactics  he  had  learned  in  her  service,  enticed 
Varus  away  from  the  fortified  line  of  the  Rhine,  across  the 
n)arshes  of  the  Lippe,  and  on  the  southern  slope  of  the 
Teutoburger  Forest,  in  a  three  days'  battle  fought  amid 
the  autunin  storms,  annihilated  the  Roman  army  of  fitly 
thousand  men.  Well  might  the  Imperial  city  tremble,  and 
the  old  Augustus  cry  out  to  the  shade  of  the  slain  com- 
mander, "  Varus,  Varus,  give  me  back  my  legions !  " 

For  five  years  the  sovereignty  of  Hermann  and  the  in- 
dependence of  his  people  were  not  disturbed.  But  after 
the  death  of  Augustus,  in  the  year  14  A.  d.,  Germanicus 
determined  to  restore  the  prestige  of  the  Roman  arms. 
In  the  mean  time  Hermann  had  married  Thusnelda, 
daughter  of  Segestus,  another  chief  of  the  Cheruski,  who 
had  reclaimed  her  by  force  in  consequence  of  a  quarrel, 
and  was  then  besieged  l)y  his  son-in-law.  Segestus  called 
the  Romans  to  his  aid,  and  delivered  Thusnelda  into  their 
hands  to  grace,  two  years  later,  the  triumph  decreed  to 
Germanicus.  Hermann,  infuriated  by  the  loss  of  a  wife 
whom  he  loved,  sunmioned  the  tribes  to  war,  and  the 
Roman  conmiander  collected  an  army  of  eighty  thousand 
men.  The  latter  succeeded  in  burying  the  bones  of  Varus 
and  his  legions,  and  was  then  driven  back  with  great  loss. 
Returning  in  the  year  16  with  a  still  larger  array,  he  met 
the  undaunted  Hermann  on  the  "Weser,  near  Hameln. 
fhe  terrible  battle  fought  there,  and  a  second  near  the 
Pbrta  Westphalioa,  were    daimed    aa   victories    hy  tbe 


IN   THE   TEUTOBUBGER   FOREST.  461 

Romans,  yet  were  followed  by  a  retreat  to  the  forttesset 
on  the  Rhine.  Germanicus  was  preparing  a  third  cam- 
paign  when  he  was  recalled  by  the  jealous  Tiberius.  The 
Romans  never  again  penetrated  into  this  part  of  Germany. 

Herriiann  might  have  founded  a  nation  but  for  the  fierce 
jealousy  of  the  other  chieftains  of  his  race.  He  was  vic- 
torious in  the  civil  wars  which  ensued,  but  was  waylaid  and 
murdered  by  members  of  his  own  family  in  the  year  21. 
His  short  life  of  thirty-seven  years  is  an  unbroken  story 
of  heroism.  Even  Tacitus,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for 
these  particulars,  says  of  him  :  "  He  was  undoubtedly  the 
liberator  of  Germany,  having  dared  to  grapple  with  the 
Roman  power,  not  in  its  beginnings,  like  other  kings  and 
commanders,  but  in  the  maturity  of  its  strength.  He  was 
not  always  victorious  in  battle,  but  in  war  he  was  never 
subdued.  He  still  lives  in  the  songs  of  the  Barbarians, 
unknown  to  the  annals  of  the  Greeks,  who  only  admire 
that  which  belongs  to  themselves  —  nor  celebrated  as  he 
deserves  by  the  Romans,  who,  in  praising  the  olden  times, 
neglect  the  events  of  the  later  years." 

Leaving  the  monument,  my  path  followed  the  crest  of 
the  mountain  for  two  or  three  miles,  under  a  continuous  roof 
of  beech.  Between  the  smooth,  clean  boles  I  looked  down 
upon  the  hot  and  shining  valley,  where  the  leaves  hung 
motionless  on  the  trees,  but  up  on  the  shaded  ridge  of  the 
hills  there  was  a  steady,  grateful  breeze.  The  gardener 
was  not  a  very  skillful  guide,  and  only  brought  me  to  the 
Winnefeld  (Winfield)  after  a  roundabout  ramble.  I  found 
myself  at  the  head  of  a  long,  bare  slope,  falling  to  the 
southwest,  where  it  terminated  in  three  dells,  divided  by 
spurs  of  the  range.  The  town  of  Lippspringe,  in  the  dis- 
tance, marked  the  site  of  the  fountains  mentioned  by  Taci- 
itus.  The  Winnefeld  lies  on  the  course  which  an  army 
would  take,  marching  from  those  springs  to  assault  the 
Teutoburg,  and  the  three  dells,  wooded  then  as  now,  would 
oifer  rare  chances  of  ambuscade  and  attack.     There  is  no 


52  6Y-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

difficulty  ill  here  locating  the  defeat  of  Varus.  That  the 
Teuton  victory  was  not  solely  the  result  of  Hermann's 
military  skill  is  proven  by  the  desperate  bravery  with 
which  his  warriors  confronted  the  legions  of  Germanicus 
five  years  later. 

Standing  upon  this  famous  battle-field,  one  cannot  but 
recall  the  subsequent  relations  of  Germany  and  Rome, 
which  not  only  determined  the  history  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
but  set  in  action  many  of  the  forces  which  shape  the  pres- 
ent life  of  the  world.  The  seat  of  power  was  transplanted, 
it  was  exercised  by  another  race,  but  its  elements  were  not 
changed.  Hermann,  a  knight  of  Rome,  learned  in  her 
service  how  to  resist  her,  and  it  was  still  the  Roman  mind 
which  governed  Italy  while  she  was  a  defiant  dependency 
of  the  German  Empire.  Charlemagne  took  up  the  un- 
completed work  of  Germanicus,  and  was  the  true  avenger 
of  Varus  after  nearly  eight  hundred  years.  The  career  of 
Hermann,  though  so  splendidly  heroic,  does  not  mark  the 
beginning  of  Germany;  the  race  only  began  to  develop 
after  its  complete  subjection  to  the  laws  and  arts  and  ideas 
of  Rome.  Thus  the  marvelous  Empire  triumphed  at 
last 

I  descended  the  bare  and  burning  slopes  of  the  moun- 
tain into  a  little  valley,  plunged  into  a  steep  forest  beyond, 
and,  after  plodding  wearily  for  an  hour  or  more,  found  my- 
self, as  nearly  as  I  could  guess,  on  the  banks  of  a  brook 
that  descends  to  the  town  of  Horn.  The  gardener  seemed 
at  fault,  yet  insisted  on  leading  me  contrary  to  my  instinct 
of  the  proper  course.  We  had  not  gone  far,  however, 
when  a  mass  of  rock,  rising  like  a  square  tower  above  the 
wooded  ridge  to  the  eastward,  signaled  our  destination  ; 
and  my  discomfited  guide  turned  about  silently,  and  made 
towards  it,  I  following,  through  thickets  and  across  swamps, 
until  we  reached  the  highway. 

The  Extern  Rocks  {Extei-nsteine)  have  a  double  interest 
for  the  traveller.      They  consist  of  five  detached  masses 


iN   THE   TEUTOBUBGE*   FOREST.  46^ 

of  gray  sandstone,  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  foet  in 
height,  irregularly  square  in  form,  and  .vith  diameter? 
varying  from  thirty  to  fifty  feet.  They  are  planted  on  a 
grassy  slope,  across  the  mouth  of  a  glen  opening  from  the 
mountains.  Only  a  few  tough  shrubs  hang  from  the  crev- 
ices in  their  sides,  but  the  birch-trees  on  the  summits  shoot 
high  into  the  air  and  print  their  sprinkled  leaves  on  the 
sky.  The  hills  of  the  Teutoburger  Forest  are  rounded  and 
cliffless,  and  the  same  formation,  it  is  said,  does  not  reap- 
pear elsewhere. 

In  the  base  of  the  most  northern  of  these  rocks  a  chapel, 
thirty-six  feet  long,  has  been  hewn  —  but  when,  or  by 
whom,  are  matters  of  conjecture.  Some  very  imaginative 
antiquaries  insist  that  the  Romans  captured  by  Hermann 
were  here  sacrificed  to  the  pagan  gods ;  others  find  evi- 
dence that  the  place  was  once  dedicated  to  the  worship  of 
Mithras  (the  sun)  ;  but  the  work  must  probably  be  ascribed 
to  the  early  Teutonic  Christians.  The  rocks  are  first  men- 
tioned in  a  document  of  the  year  1093.  On  the  outer  wall 
of  the  chapel  there  is  a  tablet  of  sculpture,  in  high  relief, 
sixteen  feet  by  twelve,  which  is  undoubtedly  the  earliest 
work  of  the  kind  in  Germany.  Its  Byzantine  character  is 
not  to  be  mistaken,  and,  judging  by  the  early  Christian 
sculptures  and  mosaics  in  Italy,  it  may  be  as  old  as  the 
ninth  or  tenth  century.  The  tablet  is  in  three  compart- 
ments, the  lower  one  representing  the  Fall  of  Man,  the 
centre  the  Descent  from  the  Cross,  while  at  the  top  the 
Almighty  receives  the  soul  of  the  Son  in  his  arms,  and 
holds  forth  the  Banner  of  the  Cross.  Although  mutilated, 
weather-beaten,  and  partly  veiled  in  obscuring  moss,  the 
pathos  of  the  sculpture  makes  itself  felt  through  all  the 
grotesqueness  of  its  forms.  Goethe,  who  saw  it,  says : 
*'  The  head  of  the  sinking  Saviour  leans  against  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  mother,  and  is  gently  supported  by  her 
hand  —  a  beautiful,  reverent  touch  of  expression  which 
we  find  in  no  other  representation  of  the  subject"     The 


464  BY-WAYS    DF   EUROPE. 

drapery  also,  though  stiff,  has  yet  the  simplicity  and  dig* 
nity  which  we  so  rarely  find  in  modern  art 

Two  of  the  rocks  may  be  ascended  by  means  of  winding 
stairways  cut  in  their  sides.  On  the  summit  of  the  first 
there  is  a  level  platform,  with  a  stone  table  in  the  centre 
—  probably  the  work  of  the  monks,  to  whom  the  place 
belonged  in  the  Middle  Ages.  By  climbing  the  central 
rock,  and  crossing  a  bridge  to  the  next,  one  reaches  a 
second  chapel,  eighteen  feet  in  length,  with  a  rock-altar  at 
the  further  end.  It  is  singular  that  there  is  no  record  of 
the  origin  of  this  remarkable  work.  We  know  that  the 
spirit  of  the  Teutonic  mythology  lived  long  after  the  intro- 
duction of  Christianity,  and  the  monks  may  have  here 
found  and  appropriated  one  of  its  sacred  places. 

By  the  time  I  reached  the  town  of  Horn,  a  mile  or  so 
from  the  base  of  the  mountains,  I  was  too  scorched  and 
weary  to  go  further  afoot,  and,  while  waiting  dinner  in  the 
guests'-room  of  the  inn,  looked  about  for  a  means  of  con- 
veyance. Three  or  four  stout  Philister,  drinking  beer  at 
an  adjoining  table,  were  bound  for  Steinheim,  which  was 
on  my  way ;  and  the  landlord  said,  "  An  '  extra  post'  will 
be  expensive,  but  these  gentlemen  might  make  room  for 
you  in  their  carriage." 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  at  me.  "  "We  are  already 
seven"  said  one,  " and  must  be  squeezed  as  it  is." 

"  By  no  means,"  I  replied  to  the  landlord  ;  "  get  me  an 
extra  post." 

Both  vehicles  were  ready  at  the  same  time.  In  the 
meantime  I  had  entered  into  conversation  with  one  of  the 
party,  —  a  bright,  cheerful  young  man,  —  and  told  him  that 
I  should  be  glad  to  have  company  on  the  way. 

"  Why  did  you  engage  an  extra  post  ? "  they  all  ex 
claimed.  "It  is  expensive!  we  are  only^vc;  you  might 
have  gone  with  us,  —  we  could  easily  make  room  for 
you!" 

Yet,  while  making  these  exclamations,  they  picked  oul 


m  THE  TEUTOBURGER   FOREST.  165 

the  oldest  and  least  companionable  of  their  party,  and 
bundled  him  into  my  "  expensive  "  carriage  !  I  never  sa^ 
anything  more  coolly  done.  I  had  meant  to  have  the 
agreeable,  not  the  stupid  member,  but  was'  caught,  and 
jould  not  help  myself.  However,  I  managed  to  extract  a 
little  amusement  from  my  companion  as  we  went  along, 
lie  was  a  Detmolder,  after  confessing  which  he  re- 
marked, — 

"  Now  1  knew  where  you  came  from  before  you  had 
spoken  ten  words." 

"  Indeed !    Where,  then  ?  " 

"  Why,  from  Bielefeld  !  " 

My  laughter  satisfied  the  old  fellow  that  he  had  guessed 
correctly,  and  thenceforth  he  talked  so  much  about  Biele- 
feld that  it  finally  became  impossible  to  conceal  my  igno- 
rance of  the  place.  I  set  him  down  in  Steinheim,  dis- 
missed the  extra  post,  and,  as  the  evening  was  so  bright 
and  balmy,  determined  to  go  another  stage  on  foot.  I  had 
a  letter  to  a  young  nobleman,  whose  estate  lay  near  a  vil- 
lage some  four  or  five  miles  further  on  the  road  to  Hoxter. 
The  small  boy  whom  I  took  as  guide  was  communicative ; 
the  scenery  was  of  the  sweetest  pastoral  character ;  the 
mellow  light  of  sunset  struck  athwart  the  golden  hills  of 
harvest,  the  lines  of  alder  hedge,  and  the  meadows  of 
winding  streams,  and  I  loitered  along  the  road  full  of  de- 
light in  the  renewal  of  my  old  pedestrian  freedom. 

It  was  dusk  when  I  reached  the  village.  The  one  cot- 
tage inn  did  not  promise  much  comfort ;  but  the  baron's 
castle  was  beyond,  and  I  was  too  tired  to  go  further.  The 
landlord  was  a  petty  magistrate,  evidently  one  of  the  pillars 
of  tlie  simple  village  society ;  and  he  talked  well  and  intel- 
ligenlly,  while  his  daughter  cooked  my  supper.  The  bare 
rooms  were  clean  and  orderly,  and  the  night  was  so  warm 
that  no  harm  was  done  when  the  huge  globe  of  feathers 
under  which  I  was  expected  to  sleep  rolled  off  the  bed  and 
lay  upon  the  floor  until  morning. 
SO 


466  BY-WAYS  OF  EUEOPE. 

Sending  my  letter  to  the  castle,  I  presently  reajived  word 
that  the  yoimg  baron  was  absent  from  home,  but  that  his 
mother  would  receive  me.  As  I  emerged  from  the  &had- 
ows  of  the  narrow  village  street  into  the  breezeless,  burning 
air  of  the  morning,  the  whole  estate  lay  full  and  fair  in 
view  —  a  thousand  acres  of  the  finest  harvest  land,  lying 
in  the  lap  of  a  bowl-shaped  valley,  beyond  which  rose  a 
wooded  mountain  range.  In  the  centre  of  the  landscape 
a  group  of  immemorial  oaks  and  lindens  hid  the  castle 
from  view,  but  a  broad  and  stately  linden  avenue  connected 
it  with  the  highway.  There  were  scores  of  reapers  in  the 
fields,  and  their  dwellings,  with  the  barns  and  stables, 
almost  formed  a  second  village.  The  castle  —  a  square 
mass  of  building,  with  a  paved  court-yard  in  the  centre  — 
was  about  three  hundred  years  old  ;  but  it  had  risen  upon 
the  foundations  of  a  much  older  edifice. 

The  baroness  met  me  at  the  door  with  her  two  daugh- 
ters, and  ushered  me  into  a  spacious  room,  the  ceiling  of 
which,  low  and  traversed  by  huge  beams  of  oak,  was  sup- 
ported by  a  massive  pillar  in  the  centre.  The  bare  oaken 
floor  was  brightly  polished  ;  a  gallery  of  ancestral  por- 
traits decked  the  walls,  but  the  furniture  was  modern  and 
luxurious.  After  a  friendly  scolding  for  not  claiming  the 
castle's  hospitality  the  night  before,  one  of  the  daughters 
brought  refreshments,  just  as  a  Burgfrdulein  of  the  Middle 
Ages  might  have  done,  except  that  she  did  not  taste  the 
goblet  of  wine  before  offering  it  The  ladies  then  con- 
ducted me  through  a  range  of  apartments,  every  one  of 
which  contained  some  picturesque  record  of  the  past.  The 
old  building  was  pervaded  with  a  mellow  atmosphere  of 
age  and  use  ;  although  it  was  not  the  original  seat  of  the 
family,  their  own  ancestral  heirlooms  had  adapted  them- 
selves to  its  physiognomy,  and  seemed  to  continue  its  tradi- 
tions. Just  enough  of  modem  taste  was  visible'  to  suggest 
home  comforts  and  conveniences ;  all  else  seemed  as  old 
as  the  Thirty  Years'  War. 


IK   THE   TEUTOBURGEK  FOREST.  467 

After  inspecting  the  house,  we  issued  upon  the  ploeu- 
aunce  —  a  high  bosky  space  resting  on  the  outer  wall  of 
the  castle,  and  looking  down  upon  the  old  moat,  still  pai> 
tially  full  of  water.  It  was  a  labyrinth  of 'shady  paths,  of 
arbors,  with  leaf-enframed  windows  opening  towards  the 
mountains,  and  of  open,  sunny  spaces  rich  with  flowers. 
The  baroness  called  my  attention  to  two  splendid  magno- 
lia-trees, and  a  clump  of  the  large  Japanese  polygonum. 
"  This,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  latter,  "  was  given  to  my 
husband  by  Dr.  von  Siebold,  who  brought  it  from  Japan  ; 
the  magnolias  came  from  seeds  planted  forty  years  ago." 
They  were  the  most  northern  specimens  of  the  trees  I  had 
found  upon  the  continent  of  Europe.  But  the  oaks  and 
lindens  around  the  castle  were  more  wonderful  than  these 
exotic  growths.  Each  one  was  "  a  forest  waving  on  a  single 
stem." 

The  young  baron  was  not  expected  to  return  before  the 
evening,  and  I  was  obliged  to  continue  my  journey,  though 
every  feature  of  the  place  wooed  me  to  stay.  "  But  at 
least,"  urged  the  hostess,  "you  must  visit  my  husband's 
twin  brother,  who  is  still  living  at  the  old  burg.  We  were 
going  to  send  for  him  to-day,  and  we  will  send  you  along.** 
This  was  a  lift  on  my  way  ;  and,  moreover,  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  meet  a  gentleman  of  whom  I  had  heard  so  much  — 
a  thinker,  a  man  of  scientific  culture,  and  a  poet,  yet  un- 
known to  the  world  in  either  of  these  characters. 

The  youngest  daughter  of  the  house  made  ready  to  ac- 
company me,  and  presently  a  light  open  wagon,  drawn  by 
a  span  of  ponies,  came  to  the  door  After  my  yesterday's 
tramp  in  the  forest  it  was  a  delightful  change.  The  young 
lady  possessed  as  much  intelligence  as  refinement,  and  with 
her  as  a  guide  the  rich  scenery  through  which  we  passed 
assumed  a  softer  life,  a  more  gracious  sentiment.  From 
the  ridge  before  us  rose  the  lofty  towers  of  a  church  at- 
tached to  an  extinct  monastery,  the  massive  buildings  of 
which  are  now  but  half  tenanted  by  some  farmers;  on  tb« 


468  BY-WAYS  OF  EUROPE. 

right  a  warm  land  of  grain  stretched  away  to  the  Teuto* 
burger  Forest ;  on  the  left,  mountains  clothed  with  beech 
and  oak  basked  in  the  sun.  We  passed  the  monastery, 
crossed  a  wood,  and  dropped  into  a  wild,  lonely  valley 
among  the  hills.  Here  the  Oldenburg^  as  it  is  called,  al- 
ready towered  above  us,  perched  upon  the  bluff  edge  of  a 
mountain  cape.  It  was  a  single  square  mass  of  the  brownest 
masonry,  seventy  or  eighty  feet  high,  with  a  huge,  steep, 
and  barn-like  roof.  It  dominated  alone  over  the  beech 
woods ;  no  other  human  habitation  was  in  sight. 

When  we  reached  the  summit,  however,  I  found  that 
the  old  building  was  no  longer  tenanted.  Behind  it  lay  a 
pond,  around  which  were  some  buildings  connected  with  the 
estate,  and  my  fair  guide  led  the  way  to  the  further  door 
of  a  house  in  which  the  laboring  people  lived.  She  went 
to  seek  her  uncle,  while  I  waited  in  a  room  so  plainly  fur- 
nished that  an  American  farmer  would  have  apologized  for 
it.  Presently  I  was  summoned  up  stairs,  where  the  old 
baron  caught  me  by  both  hands,  and  pressed  me  down  into 
his  own  arm-chair  before  it  was  possible  to  say  a  word. 
His  room  was  as  simple  as  the  first ;  but  books  and  water- 
color  drawings  showed  the  tastes  of  its  occupant'. 

It  was  truly  the  head  of  a  poet  upon  which  I  looked. 
Deep-set,  spiritual  eyes  shone  under  an  expansive  brow, 
over  which  fell  some  thin  locks  of  silky  gray  hair;  the 
nose  was  straight  and  fine,  with  delicate,  sensitive  nostrils, 
and  there  was  a  rare  expression  of  sweetness  and  purity 
in  the  lines  of  the  mouth.  It  needed  no  second  glance  to 
see  that  the  old  man  was  good  and  wise  and  noble  and  per- 
fectly lovable.  My  impulse  was  to  sit  on  a  stool  at  his 
feet,  as  I  have  seen  a  young  English  poet  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  good  Barry  Cornwall,  and  talk  to  him  with  my 
arms  resting  upon  his  knees.  But  he  drew  his  chair  close 
beside  me,  and  took  my  hand  from  time  to  tinie.  as  be 
talked  ;  so  that  it  was  not  long  before  our  thoughts  ran  to- 
gether, and  each  anticipated  the  words  of  the  other. 


m   THE   TEUTOBURGEB   FOREST.  469 

"  Now  tell  me  about  my  friend,"  said  he.  '*  We  were 
inseparable  as  students,  and  as  long  as  our  paths  lay  near 
each  other.  They  say  that  three  are  too  many  for  friend- 
ship, but  we  twin-brothers  only  counted  as  one  in  the  bond. 
Wc  had  but  one  heart  and  one  mind,  except  in  matters  of 
scienr  e,  and  there  it  was  curious  to  see  how  far  apart  we 
sometimes  were.  Ah,  what  rambles  we  had  together,  in 
Germany  and  on  the  Alps !  I  remember  once  we  were 
merry  in  the  Thiiringian  Forest,  for  there  was  wine  enough 
and  to  spare  ;  so  we  buried  a  bottle  deep  among  the  rocks. 
We  had  forgotten  all  about  it  when,  a  year  or  two  after- 
wards, we  happened  all  three  to  come  back  to  the  spot,  and 
there  we  dug  up  the  bottle,  and  drank  what  seemed  to  be 
the  best  wine  in  the  world.  I  wonder  if  he  remembers 
that  I  wrote  a  poem  about  it" 

Then  we  walked  out  through  the  beech  woods  to  a  point 
of  the  mountain  whence  there  was  a  view  of  the  monastery 
across  the  wild  valley.  "  It  was  but  yesterday,"  said  the 
old  baron,  "  since  I  stood  here  with  my  brother  —  both 
little  boys  —  and  listened  to  the  chimes  of  vesper.  There 
were  monks  in  the  old  building  then.  What  is  life,  after 
all  ?  I  don't  imderstand  it  My  brother  was  a  part  of  my- 
self We  had  but  one  life ;  he  married  and  his  home  was 
mine  ;  his  children  are  mine  still.  We  were  bom  together; 
three  years  ago  he  died,  and  I  should  have  died  at  the 
same  time.     How  is  it  that  I  live  ?  " 

He  turned  to  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes^  and  a  sad,  mys* 
t4mous  wonder  in  his  voice.  I  could  only  shake  my  head, 
for  he  who  could  have  answered  the  question  would  be 
able  to  solve  all  the  enigmas  of  life.  The  man  seemed  to 
me  like  a  semi-ghost,  attached  to  the  earth  by  only  half  the 
relation  of  other  men.  "  I  live  here  as  you  see,"  he  con- 
tinued ;  "  but  I  am  not  lonely.  All  my  life  of  seventy- 
three  years  I  have  been  laying  aside  interest  for  this  sea- 
son. I  have  still  my  thoughts  and  questions,  as  well  as  wy 
memories.     I  am  part  of  the  great  design  which  I  have 


4td  RT-WAYS   OF   EUROi»fe. 

always  found  in  the  world  and  in  man,  and  1  have  learned 
enough  to  accept  what  I  cannot  fathom." 

These  were  brave  and  wise  words,  and  they  led  on  to 
others,  as  we  walked  in  the  shadows  of  the  beech  woods, 
until  summoned  to  dinner.  The  baron's  niece  superin- 
tended the  meal,  and  a  farmer's  daughter  waited  at  the 
table.  I  was  forced  to  decline  a  kind  invitation  to  return 
t©  the  castle  with  the  old  man,  and  spend  the  night  there 
—  for  I  could  take  but  a  brief  holiday  in  the  Teutoburger 
Forest.  Then  they  proposed  taking  me  to  the  town  of 
Hoxter,  on  the  Weser,  whither  I  was  bound ;  but  while  I 
was  trying  to  dissuade  the  yoimg  lady  from  a  further  drive 
of  ten  miles,  the  sound  of  a  horn  suddenly  broke  the  soli- 
tude of  the  woods.  A  post-carriage  came  in  sight,  drove 
to  the  door,  and  from  it  descended  the  Kreisrichter  (Dis- 
trict Judge),  on  a  visit  to  the  old  baron.  As  I  noticed  that 
he  intended  remaining  for  the  night,  I  proposed  taking  the 
carriage  by  which  he  had  arrived,  though  I  should  have 
preferred  making  the  journey  on  foot 

It  was  so  arranged,  and  half  an  hour  afterwards  I  took 
leave  of  the  noble  old  man,  with  the  promise  —  which  aU 
the  battle-fields  of  Hermann  and  "Wittekind  would  not  have 
suggested  to  me  —  of  some  day  returning  to  the  Teuto- 
burger Forest  Leaving  the  mountains  behind  me,  I  fol- 
lowed a  road  which  slowly  descended  to  the  Weser  through 
the  fairest  winding  valleys,  and  before  sunset  reached 
Hoxter.  A  mile  further,  at  the  bend  of  the  river,  is  the 
ancient  Abbey  of  Corvey,  where,  in  the  year  1515,  the  first 
six  books  of  the  Annals  of  Tacitus,  up  to  that  time  lost, 
were  discovered.  The  region  which  that  great  historian 
has  alone  described,  thus  preserved  and  gave  back  to  the 
world  a  portion  of  his  works. 


HANNAH    THURSTON 

A  STORY  OF  AMERICAN   LIFE 


BAYARD  TAYLOR 


author's  revised  edition 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

G.  P.  PUTNAM, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Sontbem 

Dittrict  of  New  York. 

COPYlilGllT,   IS'.il, 

Bt  marie  TAYLOR. 


TO    GEORGE    P.    PUTNAM. 


Ml   Deab  Friend: 

When  I  decided  to  write  a  brief  letter  of  Dedication 
for  tliis  book,  and  thus  evade  a  Preface — since  all  that 
need  be  said  to  the  reader  can  be  said  just  as  well,  if  not 
better,  to  the  friend — I  began  to  cast  about  in  my  mind 
for  the  particular  individual  willing  to  stand  by  my  side  in 
this  new  literary  venture,  deserving  of  all  the  fleeting  com- 
pliment which  possible  success  may  give,  and  too  secure, 
in  the  shelter  of  his  own  integrity,  to  be  damaged  by 
whatever  (condemnation  may  fall  upon  the  author.  Wliile 
various  cherished  names  arose,  one  after  the  other,  the  cab 
in  which  1  rode  and  meditated  passed  down  Kegent  Street 
into  Waterloo  Place,  and  my  eyes  fell  upon  that  door, 
where,  seventeen  years  ago,  1  entered  for  the  first  time 
one  dreary  March  afternoon — entered  as  a  timid,  despond- 
ing stranger,  and  issued  thence  with  the  cheer  and  encour- 
agement which  I  owed  to  your  unexpected  kindness.     The 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 

G.  P.  PUTNAM, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Sonthern 

District  of  New  York. 


COPYlilQlIT,    IS'.tl, 

By  MARIE  TAYLOR. 


TO    GEORGE    P.    PUTNAM. 


Mi   Deab  Feiemd: 

When  I  decided  to  write  a  brief  letter  of  Dedication 
for  this  book,  and  thus  evade  a  Preface — since  all  that 
need  be  said  to  the  reader  can  be  said  just  as  well,  if  not 
better,  to  the  friend — I  began  to  cast  about  in  my  mind 
for  the  particular  individual  willing  to  stand  by  my  side  in 
this  new  literary  venture,  deserving  of  all  the  fleeting  com- 
pliment whicli  possible  success  may  give,  and  too  secure, 
in  the  shelter  of  his  own  integrity,  to  be  damaged  by 
whatever  condemnation  may  fall  upon  the  author.  Wliile 
various  cherished  names  arose,  one  after  the  other,  the  cab 
in  which  I  rode  and  meditated  passed  down  Kegent  Street 
into  Waterloo  Place,  and  my  eyes  fell  upon  that  door, 
where,  seventeen  years  ago,  I  entered  for  the  first  time 
one  dreary  March  afternoon — entered  as  a  timid,  despond- 
ing stranger,  and  issued  thence  with  the  cheer  and  encour- 
agement which  I  owed  to  your  unexpected  kindness.     The 


4  DEDICATION. 

condiuons  which  1  sought  axe  all  fulfilled  iu  you.  FronJ 
that  day  to  this,  in  aU  our  intercourse,  I  have  found  in  you 
the  faithful  jfriend,  the  man  o£  unblemished  honor  and  un 
Belli sh  ambition,  to  whom  the  author's  interests  were  nevei 
eecondary  to  his  own.  According  to  the  poet  Campbell, 
we  should  be  "  natural  enemies,"  but  I  dedicate  this  book 
to  you  as  my  natural  friend. 

I  am  aware  how  much  is  required  for  the  construction 
of  a  good  work  of  fiction — ^how  much  I  venture  in  entering 
upon  a  field  so  different  from  those  over  which  I  have 
hitherto  been  ranging.  It  is,  however,  the  result  of  ne 
sudden  whim,  no  ambition  casually  provoked.  The  plan 
of  the  following  story  has  long  been  familiar  to  my  mind. 
I  perceived  peculiarities  of  development  in  American  life 
which  have  escaped  the  notice  of  novehsts,  yet  wliich  are 
strikingly  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  fiction,  both  in  the 
originality  and  occasional  grotesqueness  of  their  external 
manifestation,  and  the  deeper  questions  which  He  beneath 
the  surface.  I  do  not,  therefore,  rest  the  interest  of  the 
book  on  its  slender  plot,  but  on  the  fidelity  with  which  it 
represents  certain  types  of  character  and  phases  of  society. 
That  iu  it  which  most  resembles  caricature  is  oftenest  the 
tran8<;ript  of  actual  fact,  and  there  are  none  of  the  opinions 
uttered  by  the  various  characters  which  may  not  now  and 
then  be  heard  in  almost  any  country  community  of  th« 


DEDICATION.  6 

Nortiieni  and  Western  States.  Whether  those  0])mionB 
are  to  be  commended  or  condemned,  the  personages  of  the 
story  are  alone  responsible  for  them.  I  beg  leave,  once 
more,  to  protest  against  the  popular  superstition  that  an 
author  must  necessarily  represent  himself  in  one  form  ot 
another.  I  am  neither  Mr.  Woodbury,  Mr.  Waldo,  nor 
Seth  Wattles. 

This  is  all  I  have  to  say.  The  intelligent  reader  will 
require  no  further  explanation,  and  you  no  further  assu- 
rance of  how  steadily  and  faithfully  I  am  your  friend, 

Batabd  Taylob. 

Wood's  Hotel,  Lohdov, 
Aufust,  1863. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    L  tAn 

f>    WHICH    WK   ATTEND   THB  GrEAT  SeWING-UnION   AT  PtOLBXT 9 

CHAPTER    11. 
Kb.  Woodbubt's  Introduction  to  Lakesidb 31 

CHAPTER  HL 
Aji  Evening  op  Gossip,  in  which  we  leabn  souethino  iiBOiTT  thb  Pkb- 

SONS  ALREADY  MENTIONED 37 

CHAPTER    IV. 
Ax  Interview  on  the  Road,  and  a  New  Household 48 

CHAPTER   V. 
fs  WHICH  Mb.  "Woodbury  hears  a  Woman  Speak 61 

CHAPTER   VL 
Ih  WHICH  Lakeside  becomes  uvely 11 

CHAPTER    VIL 
What  Happened  dubiko  the  Evening 90 

CHAPTER  VHL 
I»  WHICH  Mb.  Woodbubt  pays  an  Unexpected  Vihit 106 

CHAPTER   IX. 
Spiritual  and  otheb  Rappings 113 

CHAPTER   X. 
In  which  wb  heab  a  Diverting  Stoby 129 

CHAPTER   XL 
CoNTAiNiNQ  Two  Declarations,  and  the  Answebs  thereto 143 

CHAPTER    Xn. 
Mother  and  Daughteb 166 

CHAPTER   XHL 
In  which  Spring  Opens 167 

CHAPTER    XTV. 
Oontaining  Conversations  more  important  than  thbt  sesm  to  bb    lit 

CHAPTER    XV. 
Which  comes  near  being  Tragic 181 

CHAPTER    XVL 
Concerning  an  Unexpected  Journey  to  Tibebids. 206 

CHAPTER    XVU. 
Which  Solves  the  precedisq  one 811 


I  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XVnL  PAOI 

Obb  of  thb  Suumeb  Ditersions  of  Ptolemy. 23J 

CHAPTER    XIX 

IW  WHICH   THESK   IS  BOTH    ATTE ACTION   AND   REPULSION 241 

CHAPTER    XX. 

r»  WHICH  SiTH  Wattles  is  agaix  Disappointkd , 268 

CHA-PTER  XXL 

W ITH   AN   SNTIBB  ChANGE  OP  SCENE S6S 

CHAPTER  XXn. 

Ik  WHICH  TaoirBLK  oomes  to  Lakeside S81 

CHAPTER   XXin. 

ITBICH  contains  BOTH  LoVE   AND  DEATH 193 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

V  ABious  Changes,  but  uttlk  Progress  in  the  Stobt 308 

CHAPTER    XXV. 
Is  WHICH  Hannah  Thurston  makes  a  New  Acquaintajicb 319 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 
£h  which  a  Wedding   takes  place 339 

CHAPTER    XXVn. 
Dmcribing  certain  Troubles  of  Mr.  Woodbury 844 

CHAPTER    XXVin. 
br  which  Hannah  Thurston  also  has  her  Troubles 366 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

Ih  which  a  Crisis  approaches 368 

CHAPTER    XXY 
Mb.  Woodbury's  Confession SS" 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 
Ik  which  the  Strong-minded  Woman  becomes  Weak 39S 

CHAPTER    XXXII. 
Ik  which  all  Retreat  is  cut  off 401 

CHAPTER    XXXHL 

OONOEilNING   MaBBIAOE,    DeATH,    GOSSIP,  AND  GOINO  HOMB 41 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

OOHCBRNINO  THE  NeW    HOUSEHOLD   OF  LAKESIDE 430 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 

Ih     WHICH     WE     ATTEND     ANOTHER     MEETING      IN      FAVOB      OP     "  WOUEN'I 

Rights' 448 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

In    WHICH    THE    MvN    AND   WOMAN"    COMK    TO    AV    L'NOERSTi  XDING .        ...    45| 


HANNAH    THURSTON 


CHAPTER  I. 


Of  WHIOH  WE  ATTEND  THE  GREAT  SEWING-UNION  AT  PTOLEMY 

Never  before  had  the  little  society  of  Ptolemy  known  so 
animated  a  season.  For  an  inland  town,  the  place  could  not  at 
any  time  be  called  dull,  and,  indeed,  impressed  the  stranger 
with  a  character  of  exuberant  life,  on  being  compared  with 
other  towns  in  the  neighborhood.  MuUigansville  on  the  east, 
Anacreon  on  the  north,  and  Atauga  City  on-  the  west,  all  fierce 
rivals  of  nearly  equal  size,  groaned  over  the  ungodly  cheerful- 
ness of  its  population,  and  held  up  their  hands  whenever  ita 
name  was  mentioned.  But,  at  the  particular  time  whereof  we 
write — November,  1852 — the  ordinarily  mild  flow  of  life  ii. 
Ptolemy  was  unusually  quickened  by  the  formation  of  the  great 
Sewing-Union.  This  was  a  new  social  phenomenon,  which 
many  persons  looked  upon  as  a  long  stride  in  the  direction  of 
the  Millennium.  If,  however,  you  should  desire  an  opposite 
view,  you  have  but  to  mention  the  subject  to  any  Mulligans- 
villain,  any  Anacreontic,  or  any  Atauga  citizen.  The  simple 
fact  is,  that  the  various  sevdng-circles  of  Ptolemy — three  in 
number,  and  working  for  very  different  ends — had  agreed  to 
hold  their  meetings  at  the  same  time  and  place,  and  labor  in 
oompanj.     It  was  a  social  arrangement  which  substituted  onfl 


10  HANNAH   THUESTON: 

large  gathering,  all  the  more  lively  and  interesting  from  iti 
mixed  constitution,  in  place  of  three  small  and  somewhat 
monotonous  circles.  The  plan  was  a  very  sensible  one,  and  it 
mtxst  be  said,  to  the  credit  of  Ptolemy,  that  there  are  very  few 
communities  of  equal  size  in  the  country  where  it  could  have 
heen  carried  into  effect. 

First,  the  number  of  members  being  taken  as  the  test  of  rela- 
tive importance,  there  was  the  Ladies'  Sewing-Circle,  for  raising 
a  fund  to  assist  in  supporting  a  Mission  at  Jutnapore.  It  was 
drawn  mainly  from  the  congregation  of  the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles. 
Four  spinsters  connected  with  this  circle  had  a  direct  interest 
in  four  children  of  the  converted  Telugu  parents.  There  waa 
a  little  brown  Eliza  Clancy,  an  Ann  Parrott,  and  a  Sophia 
Stevenson,  in  that  distant  Indian  sheepfold ;  while  the  remain 
ing  spinster,  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  boasted  of  a  (spiritual) 
eon,  to  whom  she  had  given  the  name  of  her  deceased  brother, 
Elisha.  These  ladies  were  pleasantly  occupied  in  making 
three  mousseline-de-laine  frocks,  an  embroidered  jacket,  and 
four  half-dozens  of  pocket  handkerchiefs  for  their  little  Telugu 
children,  and  their  withered  bosoms  were  penetrated  with  a 
secret  thrill  of  the  lost  maternal  instinct,  which  they  only 
dared  to  indulge  in  connection  with  such  pious  and  charitable 
labors. 

The  second  Circle  was  composed  of  ladies  belonging  to  the 
Cimmerian  church,  who  proposed  getting  up  a  village  fair, 
the  profits  of  which  should  go  towards  the  repair  of  the  Par- 
sonage, now  sadly  dilapidated.  Mrs.  Waldo,  the  clergyman's 
wife,  was  at  the  head  of  this  enterprise.  Her  ambition  waa 
limited  to  a  new  roof  and  some  repairs  in  the  plastering,  and 
there  was  a  good  prospect  that  the  Circle  would  succeed  in 
raising  the  necessary  sum.  This,  however,  was  chiefly  owing 
to  Mrs.  Waldo's  personal  popularity.  Ptolemy  was  too  small 
a  place,  and  the  Cimtnerians  too  insignificant  a  sect,  for  the 
Church,  out  of  its  own  resources,  to  accomplish  much  for  its 
shepherd. 

Lastly,  there  was  the  Sewing-Circle  for  the  Anti-S'avery 


A.   STOBY    OF   AMEElCAN   LIFB.  H 

Pair,  which  was  limited  to  five  or  six  families.  For  the  pre- 
vious ten  years,  this  little  community,  strong  in  the  fjiith,  had 
prepared  and  forwarded  their  annual  contribution,  not  dis- 
^uraged  by  the  fact  that  the  circulation  of  their  beloved 
epecial  organ  did  not  increase  at  the  Ptolemy  Post-Office,  nor 
that  their  petitions  to  Congress  were  always  referred,  and 
never  acted  upon.  They  had  outlived  the  early  persecution,  and 
could  no  longer  consider  themselves  martyrs.  The  epithets 
"Infidel!"  "Fanatic!"  and  "Amalgamationist!"  had  been  hurled 
at  them  until  their  enemies  had  ceased,  out  of  sheer  weariness, 
and  they  were  a  little  surprised  at  finding  that  their  impor- 
tance diminished  in  proportion  as  their  neighbors  became 
tolerant.  The  most  earnest  and  enthusiastic  of  the  little  band 
were  Gulielma  Thurston,  a  Quaker  widow,  and  her  daughter 
Hannah ;  Mrs.  Merryfield,  the  wife  of  a  neighboring  farmer, 
and  Seth  Wattles,  a  tailor  in  the  village.  Notwithstanding 
the  smallness  of  this  circle,  its  members,  with  one  exception, 
were  bright,  clear-minded,  cheerful  women,  and  as  the  suspi- 
cions of  their  infidelity  had  gradually  been  allayed  (mainly  by 
their  aptness  in  Biblical  quotation),  no  serious  objection  was 
made  to  their  admittance  into  the  Union. 

The  proposition  to  unite  the  Circles  came  originally,  we 
believe,  fi-om  Mrs.  Waldo,  whose  sectarian  bias  always  gave 
way  before  the  social  instincts  of  her  nature.  The  difficulty 
of  carrying  it  into  execution  was  much  lessened  by  the  fact 
that  all  the  families  were  already  acquainted,  and  that,  fortu- 
nately, there  was  no  important  enmity  existing  between  any 
two  of  them.  Besides,  there  is  a  natural  instinct  in  women 
lehich  leads  them  to  sew  in  flocks  and  enliven  their  labor  by 
.he  discussion  of  patterns,  stuffs,  and  prices.  The  Union,  with 
from  twenty-five  to  forty  members  in  attendance,  was  found 
to  be  greatly  more  animated  and  attractive  than  either  of  the 
Circles,  separately,  had  been.  Whether  more  work  was 
accomplished,  is  a  doubtful  question ;  but,  if  not,  it  made 
little  difference  in  the  end.  The  naked  Telugus  would  not 
suffer  from  a  scantier  supply  of  clothing;   the  Cimmeiians 


1ft  HANNAH   THURSTOlr  . 

would  Charge  outrageous  prices  for  useless  articles,  in  attX 
case  :  nor  would  The  Slavery  Annihilator  perish  for  want  of 
support,  if  fewer  pen-wipers,  and  book-marks,  inscribed  witl 
appropriate  texts,  came  from  Ptolemy. 

The  Sewing-Union  was  therefore  pronounced  a  great  socia! 
success,  and  found  especial  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  gentlemen, 
who  were  allowed  to  attend  "  after  tea,"  with  the  understand- 
ing that  they  would  contribute  something  to  either  of  the 
three  groups,  according  to  their  inclinations.  Mrs.  Waldo,  by 
general  acquiescence,  exercised  a  matronly  supervision  over 
the  company,  putting  down  any  rising  controversy  with  a 
gentle  pat  of  her  full,  soft  hand,  and  preventing,  with  cheerful 
tyranny,  the  continual  tendency  of  the  gentlemen  to  interrupt 
the  work  of  the  unmarried  ladies.  She  was  the  oleaginous 
solvent,  in  which  the  hard  yelk  of  the  Mission  Fund,  the  vine- 
gar of  the  Cimmerians,  and  the  mustard  of  the  Abolitionists 
lost  their  repellant  qualities  and  blended  into  a  smooth  sociai 
compound.  She  had  a  very  sweet,  mellow,  rounded  voice, 
and  a  laugh  as  comforting  to  hear  as  the  crackling  of  a  wood- 
fire  on  the  open  hearth.  Her  greatest  charm,  however,  was 
her  complete  unconsciousness  of  her  true  value.  The  people 
of  Ptolemy,  equally  unconscious  of  this  subduing  and  harmo- 
nizing quality  which  she  possessed,  and  seeing  their  honessea 
and  lambs  sewing  peaceably  together,  congiatulated  them- 
selves on  their  own  millennial  promise.  Of  course  everybody 
was  satisfied — even  the  clergymen  in  Mulligansville  and 
Anacreon,  who  attacked  the  Union  from  their  pulpits,  secretly 
thankful  for  such  a  near  example  of  falling  from  the  stifi, 
narrow,  and  carefully-enclosed  ways  of  grace. 

Tt  Avas  the  third  meeting  of  the  Union,  and  nearly  all  the 
u embers  were  present.  Then-  session  was  held  at  the  house 
of  IMr.  Hamilton  Bue,  Agent  of  the  "  Saratoga  Mutual"  for 
the  town  of  Ptolemy,  and  one  of  the  Directors  of  the  Bank  at 
Tiberius,  the  county-seat.  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue  was  interested 
in  the  contribution  for  the  mission  at  Jutnapore,  and  the  Rev 
Lemuel  Styles,  pastor  of  the  principal  church  in  the  village 


A    STORT    OF   AHXBICAN   LIFB.  It 

had  been  specially  invited  to  come  "  before  tea,''  for  the  pur 
pose  of  asking  a  blessing  on  the  bountiful  table  of  the  hostess. 
The  parlor,  large  as  it  was  (for  Ptolemy),  had  been  somevrhat 
overcrowded  during  the  afternoon ;  therefore,  anticipating  a 
large  arrival  of  gentlemen  in  the  evening,  Mrs.  Bue  had  the 
tables  transferred  from  the  sitting-room  to  the  kitchen,  locked 
the  hall  door,  and  thus  produced  a  suite  of  three  apartments, 
counting  the  hall  itself  as  one.  The  guests  were  admitted  at 
the  side-entrance,  commonly  used  by  the  family.  Two  or 
three  additional  lamps  had  been  borrowed,  and  the  general 
aspect  of  things  was  so  bright  and  cheerful  that  Mr.  Styles 
whispered  to  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue :  "  Really,  I  am  afraid  this 
looks  a  little  like  levity." 

"  But  it's  trying  to  the  eyes  to  sew  with  a  dim  light,"  said 
she  ;  "  and  we  want  to  do  a  good  deal  for  The  Fund  this  even- 
ing." 

*'  Ah !  that,  indeed  1"  he  ejaculated,  smiling  blandly  as  he 
contemplated  Miss  Eliza  Clancy  and  Miss  Ann  Parrott,  who 
were  comparing  the  dresses  for  their  little  brown  name- 
sakes. 

"  I  think  it  looks  better  to  be  gored,"  said  the  former. 

"  Well — I  don't  know  but  what  it  does,  with  that  figure," 
remarked  Miss  Parrott,  "  but  my  Ann's  a  sUm,  growing  girl, 
and  when  you've  tucks — and  I'm  making  two  of  'em — it 
seems  better  to  pleats 

"  How  will  this  do,  Miss  Eliza  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Waldo,  coming 
up  at  the  moment  with  a  heavy  knitted  snood  of  crimson 
wool,  which  she  carefully  adjusted  over  her  own  abundant 
black  hair.  The  effect  was  good,  it  cannot  be  denied.  The 
contrast  of  colors  was  so  pleasing  that  the  pattern  of  the 
ifiood  became  quite  a  subordinate  affair. 

"  Upon  my  word,  very  pretty !"  said  the  lady  appealed  to. 

"  Pity  you  haven't  knit  it  for  yourself,  it  suits  you  so  well,*' 
Miss  Parrott  observed. 

"  I'd  rather  take  it  to  stop  the  leak  in  my  best  bed-room,*' 
Mrs.  Waldo  gayly  rejoined,  stealing  a  furtive  glance  at  her 


14  HAJSTNAH  THURSTON  t 

head  in  tlie  mirror  over  the  mantel-piece.     "  Oh,  Miss  Thnn 
ton,  will  you  let  us  see  your  album-cover  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  had  caught  sight  of  a  quiet  nook  in  th< 
hall,  behind  the  staircase,  and  was  on  her  way  to  secure  pos- 
session  of  it.  She  had  found  the  warmth  of  the  sitting-room 
intolerable,  and  the  noise  of  many  tongues  began  to  be  dis- 
tracting to  her  sensitive  Quaker  ear.  She  paused  at  once,  and 
in  answer  to  Mrs.  Waldo's  request  unfolded  an  oblong  piece 
of  warm  brown  cloth,  upon  which  a  group  of  fern-leaves, 
embroi'lered  with  green  silk,  was  growing  into  shape.  The 
threadj^  »tems  and  frail,  diminishing  fronds  were  worked 
with  an  exquisite  truth  to  nature. 

"  It  is  not  much  more  than  the  outline,  as  yet,"  she  re- 
marked, as  she  displayed  the  embroidery  before  the  eager 
eyes  of  Mrs.  Waldo  and  the  two  spinsters. 

The  former,  who  possessed  a  natural  though  uncultivated 
sense  of  beauty,  was  greatly  delighted.  "  Why  it's  perfectly 
lovely !"  she  exclaimed :  "  if  I  was  younger,  I'd  get  you  to 
teach  me  how  you  do  it.  You  must  be  sure  and  let  me  see 
the  book  when  it's  finished." 

"  I  don't  see  why  my  Eliza  couldn't  make  me  one  of  the 
flowers  around  Jutnapore,"  said  Miss  Claiicy.  "  I'll  mention 
it  in  my  next  letter  to  Mrs  Boerum — the  missionary's  wife, 
you  know.  It  wouM  be  such  a  nice  thing  for  me  to  remem- 
ber her  by." 

Meanwhile  the  gentlemen  began  to  drop  in.  Mr.  Merryfield 
arrived,  in  company  with  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder,  member  of 
the  Legislature  for  Atauga  county.  Then  followed  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Waldo,  a  small,  brisk  man,  with  gray  eyes,  a  short  nose, 
»et  mit  from  his  face  at  a  sharper  angle  than  is  usual  with 
noses  and  a  mouth  in  which  the  Lord  had  placed  a  set  of 
teeth  oelonging  to  a  man  of  twice  his  size — for  which  reason  hie 
lips  could  not  entirely  close  ovei  them.  His  face  thus  received 
an  expiession  of  perpetual  hunger.  The  air  of  isolation,  com- 
mon to  clergymen  of  those  small  and  insignificant  sects  which 
ieem  to  exist  by  sheer  force  of  obstinacy,  was  not  very  per* 


A   STOKf    OF    AMEJEUCAN   LIFE.  II 

ceptible  ir  hiin.  It  had  been  neutralized,  if  not  suppressed, 
by  the  force  of  a  strong  animal  temperament.  On  that  side 
of  his  nature,  there  was  no  isolation. 

A  number  of  young  fellows — bashful  hobbledehoys,  01 
over-assured  men  of  two  or  three  and  twenty,  with  rigorousl} 
fashionable  shirt-collars — now  made  their  appearance  and 
distributed  themselves  through  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue's  roonm 
In  the  rising  noise  of  conversation  the  more  timid  ventured  to 
use  their  tongues,  and  the  company  soon  became  so  animated 
that  all  of  Mrs.  Waldo's  authority  was  necessary,  to  prevent 
the  younger  ladies  from  neglecting  their  tasks.  The  Cimme- 
rians, as  a  point  of  etiquette,  were  installed  in  the  parlor, 
which  also  accommodated  a  number  of  the  workers  for  the 
Mission  Fund,  the  remainder  being  gathered  in  the  sitting- 
room,  where  Mr.  Styles  and  Mr.  Waldo  carried  on  an  ex- 
ceedingly guarded  and  decorous  conversation.  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton had  secured  her  coveted  nook  behind  the  staircase  in  the 
hall,  where  she  was  joined  by  Mrs.  Merryfield  and  Miss  Sophia 
Stevenson.  Mrs.  Waldo,  also,  kept  a  chair  at  the  same  table, 
for  the  purpose  of  watching  the  expanding  fern-leaves  in  the 
intervals  of  her  commandership.  Seth  Wattles  tilted  his  chair 
in  a  corner,  eager  for  an  opportunity  to  usurp  the  conver- 
sation. 

Seth  was  an  awkward,  ungainly  person,  whose  clothes  were 
a  continual  satire  on  his  professional  skill.  The  first  impres 
sion  which  the  man  made,  was  the  want  of  compact  form. 
His  clay  seemed  to  have  been  modelled  by  a  bungling  ap- 
prentice, and  imperfectly  baked  afterwards.  The  face  was 
long  and  lumpy  in  outline,  without  a  proper  coherence  be- 
tween tho  features — the  forehead  being  sloping  and  contracted 
at  the  temples,  the  skull  running  backwards  in  a  high,  narrow 
ridge.  Thick  hair,  of  a  faded  brown  color,  parted  a  little  on 
one  side,  was  brushed  behind  his  ears,  where  it  hung  in  stiff 
half-cuils  upon  a  broad,  falling  shirt-collar,  which  revealed  his 
neck  down  to  the  crest  of  the  breast-bone.  His  eyes  were 
opaque  gray,  prominent,  and  devoid  of  expression.     His  no8€ 


16  HANNAH   TUUKSTOK: 

was  long  and  coarsely  constructed,  with  blunt  end  and  thici 
nostrils,  and  his  lips,  though  short,  of  that  peculiar,  shapeless  for- 
mation, which  prevents  a  clear  line  of  division  between  thein. 
Heavy,  and  of  a  pale  purplish-red  color,  they  seemed  to  run 
together  at  the  inner  edges.  His  hands  were  largo  and  hang- 
ing, and  all  his  joints  apparently  knobby  and  loose.  His  skin 
aad  that  appearance  of  oily  clamminess  which  belongs  to  such 
an  organization.  Men  of  this  character  seem  to  be  made  of 
sticks  and  putty.  There  is  no  nerve,  no  elasticity,  no  keeUj 
alert,  impressible  life  in  any  part  of  their  bodies. 

Leaving  the  ladies  of  the  Fund  to  hear  Mrs.  Boerum's  last 
letter  describing  the  condition  of  her  school  at  Jutnapore,  and 
the  Cimmerians  to  consult  about  the  arrangements  for  their 
Eiair,  we  will  join  this  group  in  the  hall.  Mrs.  Waldo  had 
just  taken  her  seat  for  the  seventh  time,  saying:  "Well,  I 
never  shall  get  any  thing  done,  at  this  rate !" — when  her  atten- 
tion was  arrested  by  hearing  Hannah  Thurston  say,  in  answer 
to  some  remark  of  Mrs.  Merryfield :  ^ 

"It  is  too  cheerful  a  place,  not  to  be  the  home  of  cheer- 
ful and  agreeable  people." 

"  Oh,  you  are  speaking  of  Lakeside,  are  you  not  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  they  say  it's  sold,"  said  Mrs.  Merryfield ;  "  have  you 
heard  of  it?" 

"  I  beUeve  Mr.  Waldo  mentioned  it  at  dinner.  It's  a  Mr. 
Woodbury,  or  some  such  name.  And  rich.  He  was  related, 
in  some  way,  to  the  Dennisons.  He's  expected  immediately, 
I'm  glad  of  it,  for  I  want  to  put  him  under  contribution.  Oh, 
how  beautiful!  Did  you  first  copy  the  pattern  from  the 
leaves,  Hannah,  or  do  you  keep  it  in  your  head  ?" 

"  Woodbury  ?  Related  to  the  Dennisons  ?"  mused  Mrs. 
Merryfield.  "Bless  me!  It  can't  be  little  Maxwell — Max. 
we  always  called  him,  that  used  to  be  there  summers — well, 
nigh  twenty  years  ago,  at  least.  But  you  were  not  here 
then,  Mrs.  Waldo — nor  you,  neither,  Hannah.  I  heard  after- 
vrards  that  he  went  to  Calcutty       I  remember  him  very 


A   StOET   OF   AMEEICAN  LIFE.  M 

freli — a  smart,  curly-headed  youngster,  but  knowed  nothing 
about  farming.  Him  and  my  poor  Absalom" — here  8h« 
pmothered  a  rising  sigh — "  used  to  be  a  good  deal  with 
other." 

An  unusual  stir  iu  the  sitting-room  interrupted  the  con 
versation. 

There  were  exclamations — noises  of  moving  chairs — iudis 
linct  phrases — and  presently  the  strong  voice  of  the  Hon. 
Zeno  Harder  was  heard :  "  Very  happy  to  make  your  ao- 
qiiaintance,  Sir — very  happy!"  Mrs.  Waldo  slipped  to  the 
door  and  peeped  in,  telegraphing  her  observations  in  whis- 
pers to  the  little  party  behind  the  stairs.  "There's  Mr. 
Hammond — the  lawyer,  you  know,  from  Tiberius,  and  another 
gentleman — a  stranger.  Tall  and  sunburnt,  with  a  moustache 
— ^but  I  like  his  looks.  Ah !"  Here  she  darted  back  to  hei 
seat.  "  Would  you  believe  it  ? — the  very  man  we  were  talk- 
ing about — Mr.  Woodbury  !" 

In  accordance  with  the  usages  of  Ptolemy  society,  the  new- 
comers were  taken  in  charge  by  the  host,  and  formally  intro- 
duced to  every  person  present.  In  a  few  minutes  the  round 
of  the  sitting-room  was  completed  and  the  party  entered  the 
hall.  Miss  Thurston,  looking  up  with  a  natural  curiosity,  en- 
countered a  pair  of  earnest  brown  eyes,  which  happened,  at 
the  moment,  to  rest  mechanically  upon  her.  Mr.  Hamilton 
Bue  advanced  and  performed  his  office.  The  stranger  bowed 
v\  ith  easy  self-possession  and  a  genial  air,  which  asserted  his 
determination  to  enjoy  the  society.  Mrs.  Waldo,  who  was  no 
respeiiter  of  persons — in  fact,  she  often  declared  that  she 
would  not  be  afraid  of  Daniel  Webster — cordially  gave  him 
her  hand,  exclaiming :  "  We  were  this  minute  talking  of  you, 
Mr.  Woodbury  !  And  I  wished  you  were  here,  that  I  might 
levy  a  contribution  for  our  Sewing-Circle.  But  you're  go- 
ing to  be  a  neighbor,  and  so  I'll  ask  it  in  earnest,  next 
time." 

"  Why  not  now  ?"  said  the  gentleman,  taking  out  his 
purse.     "  First  tlioughts  are  often  best,  and  you  know  th« 


18  HAilNAH  THtTESTON: 

proverb  about  short  settlements.  Pray  accept  this,  as  a  toka 
that  you  do  not  consider  me  a  stranger." 

"  Oh,  thank  you !"  she  cried,  as  she  took  the  bank-note ; 
"  but"  (hesitatingly)  "  is  this  a  donation  to  our  Society,  or 
must  I  divide  it  with  the  others  ?"  The  peculiar  tone  in 
which  the  q[uestion  was  put  rendered  but  one  answer  possibla 
No  man  could  have  uttered  it  with  such  artful  emphasis. 

The  constitution  of  the  Sewing-Union  was  explained,  and 
Mr.  Woodbury  purchased  a  universal  popularity  by  equal 
contributions  to  the  three  Circles.  Had  he  been  less  iihpal- 
sive— less  kindly  inclined  to  create,  at  once,  a  warm  atmos- 
phere around  his  future  home — he  would  not  have  given  so 
much.  The  consequences  of  his  generosity  were  not  long  in 
exhibiting  themselves.  Two  days  afterwards,  the  Seventh- 
Day  Baptists,  at  Atauga  City,  waited  on  him  for  a  subscrip- 
tion towards  the  building  of  their  new  church  ;  and  even  the 
ladies  of  Mulligansville  so  far  conquered  their  antipathy  to 
the  Ptolemy  district,  as  to  apply  for  aid  to  the  Mission  at 
Pulo-Bizam,  in  the  Ladrone  Islands,  which  was  a  subject  of 
their  especial  care. 

The  introduction  of  a  new  element  into  a  society  so  purely 
local  as  that  of  Ptolemy,  is  generally  felt  as  a  constraint. 
Where  the  stranger  is  a  man  of  evident  cultivation,  whose  su- 
periority, in  various  respects,  is  instinctively  felt,  but  would  be 
indignantly  disclaimed  if  any  one  dared  to  assert  it,  there  is, 
especially,  a  covert  fear  of  his  judgment.  His  eye  and  ear  are 
supposed  to  be  intensely  alert  and  critical :  conversation  be- 
comes subdued  and  formal  at  his  approach :  the  romping  youthi 
and  maidens  subside  into  decorous  and  tedious  common-places, 
until  the  first  chill  of  his  presence  is  overcome.  Mr.  Wood- 
bury had  tact  enough  to  perceive  and  dissipate  this  impression. 
His  habitual  manners  were  slightly  touched  with  reserve,  but 
no  man  could  unbend  more  easily  and  gracefully.  To  the  few 
who  remembered  him  as  "  Little  Max." — among  them  Mrs. 
Merryfield — he  manifested  the  cordial  warmth  of  an  old 
friend,  and    laughed  with  a  delight  which   came   from   the 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFB.  Ifl 

heart,  at  their  mention  of  certain  boyish  mishaps  which  mark 
ed  his  summers  at  Lakeside.  The  laborers  for  the  Misbion 
Fund  were  rejoiced  to  learn  that,  though  he  had  never  been  at 
Jutnapore,  yet  he  had  once  seen  Mr.  Boerurn,  on  that  gentle- 
man's  arrival  at  Calcutta.  ("What  a  pity  he  did'nt  go  to 
Jutnapore !  He  might  have  told  me  about  my  EUza,"  re- 
marked Miss  Clancy,  aside.)  In  short,  the  ice  between  Mr, 
Woodbury  and  the  rest  of  the  company  was  broken  so  quickly 
t,hal  even  the  formation  of  the  first  thin  crust  was  scarcely 
perceived.  His  introduction  to  Ptolemy  society  was — in  the 
social  technology  of  Boston — "  a  success." 

Again  the  clacking  of  tongues  rose  high  and  shrill,  lessen- 
ing only  for  a  few  minutes  after  the  distribution  of  wedges  ol 
molasses-cake,  offered  by  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue's  black-mitted 
hands.  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue  followed  in  her  wake  with  a  jing- 
ling tray,  covered  with  glasses  of  lemonade,  which  the  ladies 
sipped  delicately.  The  four  spinsters,  observing  that  Mrs. 
Lemuel  Styles  drank  but  the  half  of  her  glass,  replaced  theirs 
also  half-filled,  though  it  went  to  their  hearts  to  do  so.  The 
needles  now  stood  at  ease,  no  longer  marching,  vith  even 
stitch,  over  their  parade-grounds  of  silk,  or  cotton,  or  mous- 
seline-de-laine.  One  straggler  after  another  fell  out  of  the 
ranks,  until  it  was  finally  declared  that "  we  have  done  enough 
for  this  evening."  Then  came  singing,  commencing  with 
"From  Greenland's  Icy  Mountains,"  in  which  half  the  com- 
pany joined.  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson,  who  had  a  good  voice, 
witli — it  must  be  admitted — an  occasional  tendency  to  sharps, 
led  the  hymn;  but  the  parts  were  unequally  distributed, 
which  Mr.  Woodbury  perceiving,  he  struck  in  with  a  rich 
baritone  voice.  This  acquisition  was  immediately  noticed, 
ind,  at  the  conclusion  of  the  hymn,  Mrs.  Waldo  requested 
that  he  would  favor  them  with  a  solo. 

"  I  prefer  to  listen,"  he  answered.  "  I  know  none  but  the 
old,  old  songs,  which  you  all  have  heard.  But  you  are  wel- 
come  to  one  of  them,  if  you  will  first  let  me  hear  something 
newer  and  fresher."'      Unconsciously,  he  had  hit  the  custom 


20  HANNAH   TUUKSTON: 

of  Ptolemy,  never  to  sing  until  somebody  else  has  first  sung, 
to  encouiage  you.     The  diflSculty  is,  to  find  the  eucourager. 

Mrs.  Waldo  seized  upon  Seth  Wattles,  who,  nothing  loth, 
wmmeticed  in  a  gritty  bass  voice : 

'■  Wiiy-ee  dooz  the  why-eet  man  follah  mee  pawth, 
Like  the  ha-ound  on  the  ty-eeger's  tra-hack  ? 
Dooz  the  flu-hush  on  my  da-hark  cheek  waken  his  wrawth^ 
booz  he  co-hovet  the  bow  a-hat  mee  ba-hack  ?" 

"  Whut  in  the  world  is  the  song  about  ?"  whispered  Mr, 
Woodbuiy. 

"  It's  -he  Lament  of  the  Indian  Hunter,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo. 
'  he  alw  »ys  sings  it.  Now  comes  the  chorus :  it's  queer : 
listen !" 

Thereupon,  from  the  cavernous  throat  of  the  singer,  issued 
a  series  of  howls  in  the  minor  key,  something  in  this  wise: 

''  Vo-Hj — yo-ho!     Yo-HO-0 — yo-no-ho-Ao-ho !" 

"  Aftei  this,"  thought  Woodbury,  "they  can  bear  to  hear 
an  old  so*.g,  though  a  thousand  times  repeated."  And  being 
again  pre8bv;d,  he  gave  simply,  without  any  attempt  at  brilliancy 
of  executiorf :  "  The  Harp  of  Tara." 

There  was  profound  silence,  as  his  voice,  strung  with  true 
masculine  ftwre,  rang  through  the  rooms.  Generally,  the  least 
intellectual  ^rerpons  sing  with  the  truest  and  most  touching  ex- 
pression, becHUse  voice  and  intellect  are  rarely  combined :  but 
Maxwell  Woodbury's  fine  organ  had  not  been  given  to  him  at 
the  expense  ot  his  brain.  It  was  a  lucky  chance  of  nature.  Hia 
hearers  did  not  really  know  how  admirably  he  interpreted  that 
sigh  of  the  Irish  heart,  but  they  were  pleased,  and  not  nig- 
gardly in  their  expressions  of  delight. 

More  songs  were  called  for,  and  refused.  There  was  the 
usual  coaxing,  and  a  shocking  prevalence  of  hoarseness,  com« 
bined  with  sudden  loss  of  memory.  One  young  lady  com- 
menced with  "Isle"  (which  she  pronoimced  eye-heel)  "of 
Beauty,"  but  broke  down  at  the  end  of  the  first  verse,  and  all 
the  cries  of:  "J9o  pjo  on !"  "  It's  so  pretty !"  could  not  euconr 


A   STOBY    OF   AMEBlCAJf   LIFB.  SI 

age  her  to  resume.  Finally  some  one,  spying  Hannah  TLorston, 
who  had  folded  up  her  embroidery  and  was  sitting  in  a  shaded 
corner,  cried  out  : 

**  Oh,  Miss  Thurston !  Give  us  that  song  you  sang  the  last 
time — that  one  about  the  mountains,  you  know." 

Miss  Thurston  started,  as  if  aroused  out  of  a  profound 
revery,  while  a  flitting  blush,  delicate  and  transient  as  the 
shadow  of  a  rose  tossed  upon  marble,  visited  her  face.  She 
had  felt  and  followed,  word  by  word  and  tone  by  tone,  the 
glorious  Irish  lay.    The  tragic  pathos  of  the  concluding  linear— 

"  For  freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 
The  only  throb  she  gives 
Is  when  some  heart  mdlgnant  breaks, 
To  show  that  still  she  UvesI" 

— thrilled  and  shook  her  with  its  despairing  solemnity.  What 
a  depth  of  betrayed  trust,  of  baffled  aspiration,  it  revealed! 
Some  dormant  sentiment  in  her  own  heart  leapt  up  and  an- 
swered it,  with  that  quick  inner  pang,  which  would  be  a  cry 
were  it  expressed  in  sound.  Yet  was  the  despair  which  the 
melody  suggested  of  a  diviner  texture  than  joy.  It  was  that 
sadness  of  the  imaginative  nature  which  is  half  triumph,  be- 
cause the  same  illumination  which  reveals  the  hopelessness  of 
its  desires  reveals  also  their  beauty  and  their  divinity. 

The  request  addressed  to  her  was  a  shock  which  recalled 
her  to  herself.  It  was  so  warmly  seconded  that  refusal  would 
have  been  ungracious,  and  a  true  social  instinct  told  her  that 
her  revery,  though  involuntary,  was  out  of  place.  She  prof- 
ited by  the  little  delay  which  ensued  in  order  to  secure  silenc« 
—•for  in  our  country  communities  silence  always  precedes  the 
gong — to  recover  her  full  self-possession.  There  was  no  tre- 
mor  in  her  voice,  which  soai'ed,  with  the  words,  into  a  still, 
dear  ether,  in  which  the  pictures  of  the  song  stood  out 
pure,  distinct,  and  sublime.  It  was  one  of  those  lyrics  of 
Mrs.  Hemans,  which  suggest  the  tnmipet  at  woman's  lip»— 
shorn  of  its  rough  battle-snarl,  its  fierce  notes  tenderly 


22  HANNAH   THUBSTON  : 

fled,  but  a  trumpet  still.    She  sang,  with  the  bride  of  thit 
Alpine  hunter : 

•'  Thy  heart  is  in  the  upper  world, 

And  where  the  chamois  bound; 
Thy  heart  is  where  the  mountain-fir 

Shakes  with  the  torrent's  sound: 
And  where  the  snow-peaks  gleam  like  Stan 

In  the  stiUness  of  the  air, 
And  where  the  lawine's  voice  is  heard, — 

Hunter,  thy  heart  is  there  I" 

It  was  rather  musical  declamation,  than  singing.  Her  voice, 
pure,  sweet,  and  strong,  distinctly  indicated  the  melody,  in- 
stead of  giving  it  positively,  beyond  the  possibility  of  a  mista» 
ken  semitone.  It  was  a  ringing  chant  of  that  "  upper  world" 
of  the  glaciers,  where  every  cry  or  call  is  followed  by  a  musi- 
cal echo, — where  every  sound  betrays  the  thin  air  and  the 
boundless  space.  Hannah  Thurston  sang  it  with  a  vision  of 
Alpine  scenery  in  her  brain.  She  saw,  gleaming  in  the  paler 
sunshine,  beneath  the  black-blue  heaven,  the  sharp  horns  of 
frosted  silver,  the  hanging  ledges  of  short  summer  grass,  the 
tumbled  masses  of  gray  rock,  and  the  dust  of  snow  from  fall- 
ing avalanches.  Hence,  he  who  had  once  seen  these  things  in 
their  reality,  saw  them  again  while  listening  to  her.  She  knew 
not,  however,  her  own  dramatic  power :  it  was  enough  that 
she  gave  pleasure. 

Maxwell  Woodbury's  eyes  brightened,  as  the  bleak  and 
lofty  landscapes  of  the  Bernese  Oberland  rose  before  him. 
Over  the  dark  fir-woods  and  the  blue  ice-caverns  of  the 
Rosenlaui  glacier,  he  saw  the  jagged  pyramid  of  the  Wetter- 
horn,  toppling  in  the  morning  sky ;  and  involuntarily  asked 
himself  what  was  the  magic  which  had  started  that  half-for- 
gouteu  picture  from  the  chambers  of  his  memory.  How 
Bnould  this  pale,  quiet  girl  who,  in  a  musical  sense,  was  no 
singer,  and  who  had  assuredly  never  seen  the  Alps,  have 
caught  the  voice  which  haunts  their  desolate  glory?  But 
these  were  questions  wliich  came  afterwards.     The  concluding 


▲  810BT  OF  AMEBICAN  UFB.  ^ 

▼wse,  expressing  only  the  patience  and  humility  of  loTe  in  the 
valley,  blurred  the  sharp  crystal  of  the  first  impression  and 
brought  him  back  to  the  Sewing-Union  without  a  rude  shock 
of  transition.  He  cordially  thanked  the  singer — an  act  rather 
unupual  in  Ptolemy  at  that  time,  and  hence  a  grateful  surprise 
to  Hannali  Thurston,  to  whom  his  words  conveyed  a  more 
earnest  meaning  than  was  demanded  by  mere  formal  cour. 
tesy. 

By  this  time  the  assembled  company  had  become  very 
genial  and  an  constrained.  The  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles  had  entirely 
forgotten  the  levity  of  Mrs.  Bue's  illumination,  and  even  in- 
dulged in  good-humored  badinage  (of  a  perfectly  mild  and 
proper  character)  with  Mrs.  Waldo.  The  others  were  gath- 
ered into  little  groups,  cheerfully  chatting — the  young  gentle- 
men and  ladies  apait  from  the  married  people.  Scandal  was 
sugar-coated,  in  order  to  hide  its  true  character .  love  put  on 
a  bitter  and  prickly  outside,  to  avoid  the  observation  of  oth- 
ers :  all  the  innocent  disguises  of  Society  were  in  as  full  opera- 
tion as  in  the  ripened  atmosphere  of  great  cities. 

The  nearest  approach  to  a  discord  was  in  a  somewhat  heated 
discussion  on  the  subject  of  Slavery,  which  grew  up  between 
Setli  Wattles  and  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder.  The  latter  was 
vehement  in  his  denunciation  of  the  Abolitionists,  to  which 
the  former  replied  by  quoting  the  Declaration  of  Indepen- 
dence. The  two  voices — either  of  them  alike  unpleasant  to  a 
sensitive  ear — finally  became  loud  enough  to  attract  the  atten- 
tion of  Mrs.  Waldo,  who  had  a  keen  scent  for  opportunities 
fcr  the  exercise  of  her  authority. 

"Come,  come  I"  she  cried,  placing  one  hand  on  Seth's  shoul- 
ler,  while  she  threatened  the  Honorable  Zeno  with  the  other 
'  this  is  forbidden  ground.  The  Sewiiig-Union  would  ncvei 
tiold  together,  if  we  allowed  sucli  tilings.  Besides,  what's  the 
■me?  You  two  would  talk  loiiether  all  night,  I'll  warrant,  and 
be  no  nearer  agreeing  in  the  morning." 

"No,"  cried  Seth,  "because  your  party  politicians  ignore 
the  questions  of  humanity  !" 


14  HANNAH  THUBSTOWr 

"And  youi  fanatical  abstractionists  never  look  at  any  thing 
in  a  practical  way!"  rejoined  the  Honorable  Zeno. 

"And  both  are  deficient  in  a  sense  of  propriety — ^I  shall 
have  to  say,  if  you  don't  stop,"  was  Mrs.  Waldo's  ready  coin- 
meut. 

This  little  episode  had  attracted  a  few  spectators,  whr 
ivere  so  evidently  on  Mrs.  Waldo's  side,  that  "  the  Judge,' 
as  the  Hon.  Zeno  was  familiarly  called,  at  once  saw  the  politic 
course,  and  rising  magnificently,  exclaimed:  "Although  we 
don't  advocate  Women's  Rights,  we  yield  to  woman's  author- 
ity." Then,  bowing  with  corpulent  condescension,  he  passed 
away.  Seth  Wattles,  having  no  longer  an  opponent,  was  con- 
demned to  silence. 

In  the  mean  time,  it  had  been  whispered  among  the  company 
that  the  next  meeting  of  the  Union  would  be  held  at  the 
Merryfield  farm-house,  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Ptolemy.  This 
had  been  arranged  by  the  prominent  ladies,  after  a  good  deal 
of  consultation.  Mr.  Merryfield  still  belonged  to  the  congre- 
gation of  the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles,  although  not  in  very  good 
repute.  His  farm-house  was  large  and  spacious,  and  he  was 
an  excellent  "  provider,"  especially  for  his  guests.  Moreover, 
he  was  the  only  one  of  the  small  clan  of  Abolitionists,  who 
could  conveniently  entertain  the  Union, — so  that  in  him  were 
discharged  all  the  social  obligations  which  the  remaining  mem- 
bers could  fairly  exact.  The  four  spinsters,  indeed,  had  ex 
changed  patient  glances,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  This  is  a  cross 
which  we  must  needs  bear."  Mr.  Merryfield,  be  it  known, 
had  refused  to  contribute  to  Foreign  Missions,  on  the  ground 
tliat  we  had  already  too  many  black  heathen  at  home.  The 
younger  persons,  nevertheless,  were  very  well  satisfied,  and 
thus  the  millennial  advance  of  Ptolemy  was  not  interrupted. 

The  more  staid  guests  had  now  taken  leave,  and  there  was 
presently  a  general  movement  of  departure.  The  ladies  put 
on  their  bonnets  and  shawls  in  the  best  bedroom  up-stairs,  and 
the  gentlemen  picked  out  their  respective  hats  and  coats  from 
the  miscellaneous  heao  on  the  kitchen  settee.     The  hall-dooi 


A   STORf    OF    AMEKICAN   LtB*.  M 

was  unlocked  to  facilitate  egress,  and  lively  groups  lingered 
on  the  stairs,  in  the  doorway,  and  on  the  piazza.  The  gen- 
tlemen dodged  about  to  secure  their  coveted  privilege  ol 
escort :  now  and  then  a  happy  young  pair  slipped  away  in  tho 
belief  that  they  were  unnoticed:  there  were  calls  of  "Do 
come  and  see  us,  now!" — last  eager  whispers  of  gossip,  a  great 
deal  of  superfluous  female  kissing,  and  the  final  remarks  to 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue :  "  Good-bye  !  we've  had  a  nice 
time!" — as  the  company  filtered  away. 

When  the  last  guest  had  disappeared,  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue 
carefully  closed  and  locked  the  doors,  and  then  remarked  to 
his  wife,  who  was  engaged  in  putting  out  the  extra  lamps : 
"  Well,  Martha,  I  think  we've  done  very  well,  though  I  say  it 
that  shouldn't.  Mr.  Styles  liked  your  tea,  and  the  cake  must 
have  been  pretty  good,  judging  from  the  way  they  stowed  it 
out  of  sight." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bue ;  "  I  was  afraid  at  one  time,  there 
wouldn't  be  enough  to  go  round.  It's  well  I  made  up  my 
mind,  at  the  last  minute,  to  bake  five  instead  of  four.  Mo- 
lasses is  so  high." 

"  Oh,  what's  the  odds  of  two  shillings  more  or  less,"  her 
husband  consolingly  remarked,  "  when  you're  got  to  make  a 
regular  spread  ?  Besides,  I  guess  I'll  clear  expensed,  by  per- 
suading Woodbury  to  insure  his  house  in  our  conoem.  Dea- 
nisons  always  took  the  Etna." 
2 


ti  HJJSTKAH   THUBSTOHt 


CHAPTER  n. 
MB.  Woodbury's  introduction  to  lakrsidk. 

On  the  very  day  when  the  Sewing-Union  met  in  Ptolemy 
there  was  an  unusual  commotion  at  Lakeside.  Only  four  or 
tive  days  had  elapsed  since  the  secluded  little  household  had 
been  startled  by  the  news  that  the  old  place  was  finally  sold, 
and  now  a  short  note  had  arrived  from  Mr.  Hammond,  of  Ti- 
berius, who  was  the  agent  for  the  estate,  stating  that  the  new 
owner  would  probably  make  his  appearance  in  the  course  of 
the  day. 

The  first  thing  that  suggested  itself  to  the  distracted  mind 
of  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb,  the  housekeeper,  was  immediately  to 
summon  old  Melinda,  a  negro  woman,  whose  specialty  was 
house-cleaning.  Had  there  been  sufficient  time,  Mrs.  Babb 
would  have  scoured  the  entire  dwelling,  from  garret  to  cellar. 
A  stranger,  indeed,  would  have  remarked  no  appearance  of 
disorder,  or  want  of  proper  cleanliness,  anywhere :  but  the 
tall  housekeeper,  propping  her  hands  upon  her  hips,  exclaimed, 
in  despair  :  "  Whatever  snail  I  do  ?  There 's  hardly  time  to 
have  the  rooms  swep',  let  alone  washin'  the  wood-work. 
Then,  ag'm,  I  dunno  which  o'  the  two  bed-rooms  he'd  like 
best.  Why  couldn't  Mr.  Hammond  hold  him  back,  till  things 
was  decent  ?  And  the  Ubery  's  been  shet  up,  this  ever  so 
long ;  and  there's  bakin'  to  do — squinch  tarts,  and  sich  likes 
— and  you  must  kill  two  chickens.  Arbutus,  right  away !" 

"  Don't  be  worried.  Mother  Forty,"  replied  Arbutus  Wil- 
ion,  the  stout  young  man  whom  Mrs.  Babb  addressed,  "  things 
a 'n't  lookin'  so  bad,  after  all.  Max. — well,  Mr.  Woodbury,  I 
must  say  now,  though  it'll  go  rather  queer,  at  first — was  al- 
ways  easy  satisfied,  when  he  was  here  afore." 


A   STORY    OF  AMBBICAN   UFB.  87 

*'  I  reckon  you  think  people  doesn't  change  in  twenty  year. 
There's  no  tellin'  what  sort  of  a  man  he's  got  to  be.  Bui 
here  comes  Melindy.  I  guess  I'll  open  the  hbery  and  let  il 
ail,  while  she  fixes  the  bedrooms." 

Mrg  Babb's  nervousness  had  a  deeper  cause  than  the  con- 
dition of  the  Lakeside  mansion.  So  many  years  had  elapsed 
since  she  first  came  to  the  place  as  housekeeper,  that  it  seemed 
to  have  become  her  own  property  as  surely  as  that  of  the 
Dennison  family.  The  death  of  Mrs.  Dennison,  eight  months 
before,  recalled  her  to  the  consciousness  of  her  uncertain  ten- 
ure. Now,  since  the  estate  was  finally  sold  and  the  new 
owner  about  to  arrive,  a  few  days,  in  all  probability,  would 
determine  whether  her  right  was  to  be  confirmed  or  herself 
turned  adrift  upon  the  world.  Although  her  recollections  of 
Maxwell  Woodbury,  whose  last  visit  to  Lakeside  occurred 
during  the  first  year  of  her  reign,  were  as  kindly  as  was  con- 
sistent Avith  her  rigid  nature,  she  awaited  his  arrival  with  a 
mixture  of  jealousy  and  dread.  True,  he  was  somewhat 
nearer  to  her  than  those  relatives  of  Mrs.  Dennison  who  had 
inherited  the  property  at  her  death,  for  the  latter  Mrs.  Babb 
had  never  seen,  while  him  she  had  both  gently  scolded  and 
severely  petted  :  but  she  felt  that  the  removal  of  Arbutus 
Wilson  and  herself  from  the  place  would  be  a  shameful  piiece 
of  injustice,  and  the  fact  that  such  removal  was  possible  indi- 
cated something  wrong  in  the  world. 

Arbutus,  who  was  a  hardy,  healthy,  strapping  fellow,-  oi 
eight-and-twenty,  was  her  step-step-son,  if  there  can  be  such  a 
relation.  His  father,  who  died  shortly  after  his  birth,  was  one 
of  those  uneducated,  ignorant  men,  whose  ears  are  yet  quick  to 
catch  and  retain  any  word  of  grandiloquent  sound.  Notliing 
delighted  him  so  much  as  to  hear  the  BibUcal  genealogiea 
read.  He  had  somewhere  picked  up  the  word  arbutus^  the 
sound  of  which  so  pleased  him  that  he  at  once  conferred  it 
upon  his  baby,  utterly  unconscious  of  its  meaning.  A  year  or 
two  after  his  death,  the  widow  Wilson  married  Jason  Babb, 
an  honest,  meek-natured  carpenter,  who  proved  a  good  father 


28  HANNAH   THUBSTON  t 

to  the  little  Arbutus.  She,  however,  was  carried  away  by  t 
malignant  fever,  in  the  first  year  of  her  second  marriage.  The 
widower,  who  both  mourned  and  missed  her,  cherished  her 
child  with  a  conscientious  fidelity,  and  it  was  quite  as  much 
from  a  sense  of  duty  towards  the  boy,  as  from  an  inclination 
c»f  the  heart,  that  he  married  Miss  Fortitude  Winterbottom,  a 
I, ill,  staid,  self-reliant  creature,  verging  on  spinsterhood. 

The  Fates,  however,  seemed  determined  to  interfere  with 
J  ason  B.ibb's  connubial  plans ;  but  the  next  time  it  was  upon 
himself,  and  not  upon  his  wife,  that  the  lot  fell.  Having  no 
children  of  his  own,  by  either  wife,  he  besought  Fortitude, 
with  his  latest  breath,  to  be  both  father  and  mother  to  the 
doubly-orphaned  little  Bute  Wilson.  It  must  be  admitted 
that  Mrs.  Babb  faithfully  performed  her  promise.  The  true 
feeling  of  parental  tenderness  had  never  been  granted  to  her, 
and  the  sense  of  responsibility — of  ownership — which  came  in 
its  stead — was  a  very  mild  substitute ;  but  it  impressed  the 
boy,  at  least,  with  a  consciousness  of  care  and  protection, 
which  satisfied  his  simple  nature.  Mrs.  Dennison,  with  her 
kind  voice,  and  gentle,  resigned  old  face,  seemed  much  more 
the  mother,  while  Mrs.  Babb,  with  her  peremptory  ways  and 
strict  idea  of  discipline,  unconsciously  assumed  for  him  the 
attitude  of  a  father.  The  latter  had  come  to  Lakeside  at  a 
time  when  Mr.  Dennison's  confirmed  feebleness  required  his 
wife  to  devote  herself  wholly  to  his  care.  Mrs.  Babb,  there 
fore,  took  charge  of  the  house,  and  Arbutus,  at  first  a  younger 
companion  of  Henry  Dennison,  afterwards  an  active  farm-boy, 
finally  developed  into  an  excellent  farmer,  and  had  almost  the 
exclusive  management  of  the  estate  for  some  years  before  Mra, 
Dennison's  death. 

Thus  these  two  persons,  with  an  Irish  field-hand,  had  been 
tLi^  only  occupants  of  Lakeside,  during  the  summer  and  au- 
tumn. Arbutus,  or  Bute,  as  he  was  universally  called  in  the 
neighborhood,  was  well-pleased  with  the  news  of  Mr.  Wood- 
bury's purchase.  He  remembered  him,  indistinctly,  as  the 
"  town-boy"  who  gave  him  his  first  top  and  taught  him  how 


▲   SXOBT    OF   AMSKICAD    LIFB.  8f 

to  spin  it,  though  the  big  fellow  couldn't  tell  a  thru5h*8  egg 
from  a  robin's,  and  always  said  "  tortoise"  instead  of  "  tortle.*' 
Bute  thought  they'd  get  along  together  somehow — or,  if  they 
didn't,  he  could  do  as  well  somewheres  else,  he  reckoned. 
Nevertheless,  he  felt  anxious  that  the  owner  should  receive  a 
satisfactory  impression  on  his  arrival,  and  busied  himself,  with 
Patrick's  assistance,  in  "  setting  every  thing  to  rights"  about 
Jie  barn  and  out-houses- 

After  all,  there  was  scarcely  need  of  such  hurried  prepa- 
ration. Mr.  Hammond  and  Woodbury,  detained  by  some 
necessary  formalities  of  the  law,  did  not  leave  Tiberius  until 
the  afternoon  of  that  day.  The  town  being  situated  at  the 
outlet  of  Atauga  Lake,  they  took  the  little  steamer  to  Atauga 
City,  near  its  head,  in  preference  to  the  long  road  over  the 
hills.  The  boat,  with  a  heavy  load  of  freight,  made  slow  pro- 
gress, and  it  was  dusk  before  they  passed  the  point  on  the 
eastern  shore,  beyond  which  Lakeside  is  visible  from  the 
water.  On  reaching  Ptolemy  by  the  evening  stage  from 
Atauga  City,  Maxwell  Woodbury  found  the  new  "  Ptolemy 
House"  so  bright  and  cheerful,  that  he  immediately  proposed 
their  remaining  for  the  night,  although  within  four  miles  of 
their  destination. 

"  I  have  a  fancy  for  approaching  the  old  place  by  daylight," 
said  he  to  his  companion.  "  Here  begins  my  familiar  ground, 
and  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose  the  smallest  test  of  memory. 
Besides,  I  am  not  sure  what  kind  of  quarters  I  should  be  able 
to  offer  you,  on  such  short  notice." 

"  Let  us  stay,  then,  by  all  means,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  I  can 
•ippreciate  feelings,  although  I  am  occupied  entirely  with 
.loedsP  Here  he  quietly  chuckled,  and  was  answered  by  a 
roar  from  the  landlord,  who  came  up  in  time  to  hear  the 
remark. 

"Ha!  ha!  Good,  Mr.  Hanunond!"  exclaimed  the  latter. 
"Very  happy  to  entertain  you,  gentlemen.  Mr.  Woodbury 
can  ha-ve  the  Bridal  Chamber,  if  he  likes.  But  you  should  gc 
to   the  Great  Sewing-Union,  gentlemen.      You  wUl  find  all 


80  HANKAU   THURSTON  ; 

Ptolemy  there  to-night.  It's  at  Hamilton  Bue's:  you  kno^ 
him,  Mr.  Hammond — Director  of  the  Bank." 

The  results  of  this  advice  have  already  been  described 
After  breakfast,  on  the  following  morning,  the  two  gentlemep 
set  out  for  Lakeside  in  a  light  open  carriage.  It  was  one  of 
the  last  days  of  the  Indian  summer,  soft  and  hazy,  with  a  fore- 
boding of  winter  in  the  air.  The  hills,  enclosing  the  head  of 
Uit  lake,  and  stretching  away  southwards,  on  opposite  sidei 
of  the  two  valleys,  which  unite  just  behind  Ptolemy,  loomed 
through  their  blue  veil  with  almost  the  majesty  of  mountain 
ranges.  The  greea  of  the  pine-forests  on  their  crests,  and  of 
those  ragged  lines  of  the  original  woods  which  marked  the 
courses  of  the  descending  ravines,  was  dimmed  and  robbed  of  its 
gloom.  The  meadows  extending  towards  the  lake  were  still 
fresh,  and  the  great  elms  by  the  creek-side  had  not  yet  shed 
all  of  their  tawny  leaves.  A  moist,  fragrant  odor  of  decay  per- 
vaded the  atmosphere,  and  the  soft  southwestern  wind,  occasion- 
ally stealing  down  the  further  valley,  seemed  to  blow  the  som- 
bre colors  of  the  landscape  into  dying  flickers  of  brightness. 

As  they  crossed  the  stream  to  the  eastward  of  the  village, 
and  drove  along  the  base  of  the  hills  beyond,  Woodbury  ex- 
claimed : 

"You  cannot  possibly  understand,  Mr.  Hammond,  how 
refreshing  to  me  are  these  signs  of  the  coming  winter,  after 
nearly  fifteen  years  of  unbroken  summer.  I  shall  enjoy  the 
change  doubly  here,  among  the  scenes  of  the  only  countiy-life 
which  I  ever  knew  in  America, — where  I  was  really  happiest, 
as  a  boy.  I  suppose,"  he  added,  laughing,  "now  that  tbe 
business  is  over,  I  may  confess  to  you  how  much  I  congratu- 
late myself  on  having  made  the  purchase." 

"  As  if  I  did  not  notice  how  anxious  you  were  to  buy  I"  re- 
joined the  lawyer.  "  You  must  be  strongly  attached  to  th« 
old  place,  to  take  it  on  the  strength  of  former  associations.  1 
wish  it  were  nearer  Tiberius,  that  we  might  have  more  of  your 
society.     Did  you  pass  much  of  your  youth  here?" 

"  Only  my  summers,  from  the  age  of  twelve  to  fifteen.     My 


A   STOEY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFS.  tl 

Oonstitnti'on  was  rather  delicate  when  I  was  young,  and  Mrs, 
Dennisoi),  who  was  a  distant  reladve  of  my  father,  and  some- 
times visited  us  in  New  York,  persuaded  him  to  let  me  try 
the  air  of  Lakeside.  Henry  was  about  my  own  age,  and  we 
eoon  beoame  great  friends.  The  place  was  a  second  homo  to 
mo,  thenceforth,  until  my  father's  death.  Even  after  I  went 
to  Calcutta,  I  continued  to  correspond  with  Henry,  but  my 
last  letter  from  Lakeside  was  written  by  his  mother,  after  his 
body  was  brought  home  from  Mexico." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  "the  old  lady  fairly  broke 
down  after  that.  Henry  was  a  fine  fellow  and  a  promising 
officer,  and  I  believe  she  would  have  borne  his  loss  better,  had 
he  fallen  in  battle.  But  he  lingered  a  long  time  in  the  hospi- 
tal, and  she  was  just  beginning  to  hope  for  his  recovery,  when 
the  news  of  his  death  came  instead.  But  see  I  there  is  Roar- 
ing Brook.  Do  you  hear  the  noise  of  the  fall  ?  How  loud  it 
is  this  morning !" 

The  hill,  cur\dng  rapidly  to  the  eastward,  rose  abruptly  from 
the  meadows  in  a  succession  of  shelving  terraces,  the  lowest  of 
which  was  faced  with  a  wall  of  dark  rock,  in  horizontal  strata, 
but  almost  concealed  from  view  by  the  tall  forest  trees  which 
grew  at  its  base.  The  stream,  issuing  from  a  glen  which  de- 
scended from  the  lofty  upland  region  to  the  eastward  of  the 
lake,  poured  itself  headlong  from  the  brink  of  the  rocky  steep, 
— a  glittering  silver  thread  in  summer,  a  tawny  banner  of 
angry  sound  in  the  autumn  rains.  Seen  through  the  hazy  air, 
its  narrow  white  column  seemed  to  stand  motionless  between 
the  pines,  and  its  mellowed  thunder  to  roll  from  some  region 
beyond  the  hiDs. 

Woodbury,  who  had  been  looking  steadily  across  the  mead- 
ows to  the  north,  cried  out :  "  It  is  the  same — it  has  not  yet 
run  itself  dry!  Now  we  shall  see  Lakeside;  but  no — yet  I 
certainly  used  to  see  the  house  from  this  point.  Ah !  twenty 
years!  I  had  forgotten  that  trees  cannot  stand  still;  that 
ash,  or  whatever  it  is,  has  quite  filled  up  the  gap.  I  am  aftaid 
I  shall  find  greater  changes  than  this." 


His  eyes  mechanically  fell,  as  the  wheels  rumbled  suddentj 
on  the  plank  bridge  over  Roaring  Brook.  Mr.  Hammond  lookea 
np,  gave  the  horse  a  skilful  dash  of  the  whip  and  shot  past 
the  trees  which  lined  the  stream.  "  Look  and  see  1"  he  pres- 
ently said. 

The  old  place,  so  familiar  to  "Woodbury,  and  now  his  own 
property,  lay  before  him.  There  was  the  heavy  white  house, 
v\'ith  its  broad  verandah,  looking  southward  from  the  last  low 
slielf  of  the  hills,  which  rose  behind  it  on  their  westward 
sweep  back  to  the  lake.  The  high-road  to  Anacreon  and 
thence  to  Tiberius,  up  the  eastern  shore,  turned  to  the  right 
and  ascended  to  the  upland,  through  a  long  winding  glen. 
A  small  grove  of  evergreens  still  further  protected  the  house 
on  its  northwestern  side,  so  that  its  position  was  unusually 
sunny  and  sheltered.  The  head  of  the  lake,  the  meadows 
around  Ptolemy  and  the  branching  valleys  beyond,  were  all 
visible  from  the  southern  windows ;  and  though  the  hills  to 
the  east  somewhat  obscured  the  sunrise,  the  evenings  wore  a 
double  splendor — in  the  lake  and  in  the  sky. 

"Poor  Henry!"  whispered  Woodbury  to  himself,  as  Mr. 
Hammond  alighted  to  open  the  gate  into  the  private  lane. 
TTie  house  had  again  disappeared  from  view,  behind  the  rise 
of  the  broad  knoll  upon  which  it  stood,  and  their  approach 
was  not  visible  until  they  had  reached  the  upper  level,  with 
its  stately  avenue  of  sugar-maples,  extending  to  the  garden 
wall. 

The  place  was  really  unchanged,  to  all  appearance.  Per- 
tiaps  the  clumps  of  lilac  and  snowball,  along  the  northern 
w^all  were  somewhat  higher,  and  the  apple-trees  in  the  orchard 
behind  the  house  more  gnarled  and  mossy ;  but  the  house  it- 
self, the  turfed  space  before  it,  the  flagged  walk  leading  to  the 
door,  the  pyramids  of  yew  and  juniper,  were  the  same  ae 
ever,  and  the  old  oaks  at  each  corner  seemed,  twig  for  twig 
to  have  stood  still  for  twenty  years.  A  few  bunches  of  chrys 
anthemum,  somewhat  nipped  by  the  frost,  gave  their  sober 
autumnal  coloring  and  wholesome  bitter-sweet  odor  to  th« 


A    STORY    OF   AMEBICAN   LI7X.  S§ 

garden-alleys.  The  late  purple  asters  were  shrivelled  and 
drooping,  and  the  hollyhocks  stood  like  desolate  floral  towers, 
tottering  over  the  summer's  ruin. 

For  the  first  time  in  twenty  years,  Woodbury  felt  the  al 
most  forgotten  sensation  of  home  steal  through  his  heart. 
Quickly  and  silently  he  recognized  each  familiar  object,  and 
the  far-off  days  of  the  past  swept  into  the  nearness  of  yester 
day.  His  ear  took  no  note  of  Mr.  Hammond's  rattling  re- 
marks: the  latter  was  not  preciselv  the  man  whose  atmosphere 
lures  forth  the  hidden  fragrance  of  one's  nature. 

As  they  drove  along  the  garden-wall,  a  strong  figure  ap- 
peared, approaching  with  eager  strides.  He  glanced  firsi;  at 
the  horse  and  carriage.  "Fairlamb's  livery — the  bay,"  was 
his  mental  remark.  The  next  moment  he  stood  at  the  gate, 
waiting  for  them  to  alight. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Hammond?"  he  cried.  "You're 
late  a-comin' :  we  expected  ye  las'  night.  And  is  this  really 
Mr.  Maxwell,  I  mean  Mr.  Woodbury — well,  I'd  never  ha 
knowed  him.  I  s'pose  you  don't  know  me,  nuther,  Mr 
Max.?" 

"  God  bless  me  !  it  must  be  little  Bute  I"  exclaimed  Wood- 
bury, taking  the  honest  fellow's  hand.  "  Yes,  I  see  it  now — 
man  instead  of  boy,  but  the  same  fellow  still." 

"Yes,  indeed,  that  I  beT  asserted  the  delighted  Arbu 
tus.  He  meant  much  more  than  the  words  indicated. 
Fully  expressed,  his  thoughts  would  have  run  something  id 
this  wise:  "I  guess  we  can  git  on  together,  as  well  as 
when  we  was  boys.  If  you  ha'n't  changed,  /  ha'n't.  I'll 
do  my  dooty  towards  ye,  and  you  won't  be  disapp'inted  ir 
me." 

In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  had  made  her  ap 
pearance,  clad  in  the  black  bombazine  which  she  had  pur- 
chased for  Jason's  funeral,  and  was  waiting,  tall  and  rigid,  but 
with  considerable  internal  "  flusteration  "  (as  she  would  have 
expressed  it),  on  the  verandah.  One  mental  eye  was  directed 
towards  the  new  owner,  and  the  other  to  the  fowls  in  the 


34  HANNAH   THUE8T0N. 

kitchen,  which  she  had  cut  up  the  evening  before,  for  a  frio 
assee^  and  which  were  thus  rendered  unfit  for  roasting.  "  Why, 
he's  a  perfick  stranger !"  "  If  there's  only  time  to  make  a  pie 
of  'era  1"  were  the  two  thoughts  which  crossed  each  other  in 
her  brain. 

"  Mrs.  Babb  I  there's  no  mistaking  who  you  are  I"  exclaimed 
Woodbury,  as  he  hastened  with  outstretched  hand  up  th« 
flagged  walk. 

The  old  housekeeper  gave  him  her  long,  bony  hand  in 
return,  and  made  an  attempt  at  a  courtesy,  a  thing  which 
she  had  not  done  for  so  long  that  one  of  her  knee-joints 
cracked  with  the  effort.  "  Welcome,  Sir !"  said  she,  with  be- 
coming gravity.  Woodbury  thought  she  did  not  recognize 
him. 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember  Max.  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  recollex  you  as  you  was.  And  now  I  3ome  to 
look,  your  eyes  is  jist  the  same.  Dear,  dear!"  and  in  spite 
of  herself  two  large  tears  slowly  took  their  way  down  her 
lank  cheeks.  "  If  Miss  Dennison  and  Henry  could  be  here !" 
Then  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  hand,  rather  than  spoil  the 
corner  of  her  black  silk  apron.  Stiffening  her  features  the 
next  moment,  she  turned  away,  exclaiming  in  a  voice  un- 
necessarily sharp:  "Arbutus,  why  don't  you  put  away  the 
horse  ?" 

The  gentlemen  entered  the  house.  The  hall-door  had  evi- 
dently not  been  recently  used,  for  the  lock  grated  with  a 
sound  of  rust.  The  sitting-room  on  the  left  and  the  library 
beyond,  were  full  of  hazy  sunshine  and  cheerful  with  the 
crackling  of  fires  on  the  open  hearth.  Dust  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen,  but  the  chairs  stood  as  fixedly  in  their  formal  places  as 
if  screwed  to  the  floor,  and  the  old  books  seemed  to  be  glued 
together  in  regular  piles.  None  of  the  slight  takens  of  habit- 
ual occupation  caught  the  eye — no  pleasant  irregularity  of  do- 
mestic life, — a  newspaper  tossed  here,  a  glove  there,  a  chair 
placed  obliquely  to  a  favorite  window,  or  a  work-stand  or 
foot-stool  drawn  from  its  place.     Mrs.  Babb,  it  is  true,  with  f 


A   8T0RT   OP   AMERICAN   LIFB.  SI 

desperate  attempt  at  ornament,  had  gathered  the  most  pre- 
sentable of  the  chrysanthemums,  with  some  sprigs  of  arbor- 
vitae,  and  stuck  them  into  an  old  glass  flower-jar.  Their 
Dungent  odor  helped  to  conceal  the  faint  musty  smell  whicl) 
till  Ungered  in  the  unused  rooms. 

"I  think  we  will  sit  here,  Mrs.  Babb,"  said  Woodbury, 
leading  the  way  into  the  library.  "  It  was  always  my  favorite 
room,"  he  added,  turning  to  the  lawyer,  "  and  it  has  the  finest 
view  o^  the  lake." 

"  I'm  afeard  that's  all  you'll  have,"  the  housekeeper  grimly 
remarked.  "  Things  is  terrible  upside-down :  you  come  so 
onexpected.  An  empty  house  makes  more  bother  than  a  full 
one.  But  you're  here  now,  an'  you'll  have  to  take  it  sich  as 
•t  is." 

Therewith  she  retired  to  the  kitchen,  where  Bute  soon 
joined  her. 

"Well,  Mother  Forty,"  he  asked,  "how  do  you  like  his 
looks?  He's  no  more  changed  than  I  am,  only  on  th'  out- 
side. I  don't  s'pose  he  knows  more  than  ever  about  farmin', 
but  he's  only  got  to  let  me  alone  and  things  '11  go  right." 

"Looks  is  nothin',"  the  housekeeper  answered.  "Hand- 
some is  that  handsome  does,  I  say.  Don't  whistle  till  you're 
out  o'  the  woods,  Bute.  Not  but  what  I'd  ruther  have  him 
here  than  some  o'  them  people  down  to  Po'keepsy,  that  never 
took  no  notice  o'  her  while  she  lived." 

"There's  no  mistake,  then,  about  his  havin'  bought  the 
farm?" 

"  I  guess  not,  but  I'll  soon  see." 

She  presently  appeared  in  the  library,  with  a  pitcher  of 
cider  and  tAvo  glasses  on  a  tray,  and  a  plate  of  her  best  "jum* 
Dies."  "  There's  a  few  bottles  o'  Madary  in  the  cellar,"  she 
Baid ;  "  but  you  know  I  can't  take  nothin'  without  your  leave, 
Mr.  Hammoiid — leastways,  onless  it's  all  fixcid." 

Woodbury,  however,  quietly  answered :  "  Thank  you,  we 
will  leave  the  wine  until  dinner.  You  can  give  us  a  meal,  1 
presume,  Mrs.  Babb  ?" 


M  HANNAH   THXJRSTON. 

"  *T  wo'nt  be  what  I'd  like.  I'd  reckoned  on  a  snpper  W 
night,  instid  of  a  dinner  to-day.  Expect  it  'U  be  pretty  muob 
pot-luck.    However,  Fll  do  what  I  can." 

Mrs.  Babb  then  returned  to  the  kitchen,  satisfied,  at  least, 
that  Mr.  Maxwell  Woodbury  was  now  really  the  master  of 
Lakeside 
{ 


A   STOSY    OF    AMERICAN    LIPB. 


CHAPTER  m. 

AJf     WVSISQ    OP    GOSSIP,    m    WHICH    WB    LEAEN    80METHIir€ 
ABOUT  THE  PEBSONS  ALEEADY  MENTIONED. 

Afteb  a  long  absence  in  India,  Woodbury  had  come  home 
to  find  all  his  former  associations  broken,  even  the  familiar 
landmarks  of  his  boyish  life  destroyed.  His  only  near  relative 
was  an  older  sister,  married  some  years  before  his  departure, 
and  now  a  stately  matron,  who  was  just  beginning  to  enjoy  a 
new  importance  in  society  from  the  beauty  of  her  daughters. 
There  was  a  small  comer  in  her  heart,  it  is  true,  for  the  exiled 
brother.  The  floor  was  swept,  there;  the  room  aired,  and 
sufiicient  fire  kept  burning  on  the  hearth,  to  take  off  the  chill : 
but  it  was  the  chamber  of  an  occasional  guest  rather  than  of 
an  habitual  inmate.  She  was  glad  to  see  him  back  again,  es- 
pecially as  his  manners  were  thoroughly  refined  and  his  wealth 
was  supposed  to  be  large  (indeed,  common  report  greatly 
magnified  it) :  she  would  have  lamented  his  death,  and  have 
worn  becoming  mourning  for  him — would  even  have  per- 
suaded her  husband  to  assist  him,  had  he  returned  penni- 
less. In  short,  Woodbury  could  not  complain  of  his  recep- 
tion, and  the  absence  of  a  more  intimate  relation — of  a  sweet, 
sympathetic  bond,  springing  from  kinship  of  heart  as  well  as 
of  blood,  was  all  the  more  lightly  felt  because  such  bond  had 
never  previously  existed. 

In  the  dreams  of  home  which  haunted  him  in  lonely  hours, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Hoogly  or  the  breezy  heights  of  Daijeel 
ing,  Lakeside  always  first  arose,  and  repeated  itself  most  fre^ 
quently  and  distinctly.  "Aunt  Dennison,"  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  call  her.  took  the  place,  in  his  affectionate  memor" 


88  HANNAH  THUBSTOir; 

of  the  lost  mother  whose  features  he  could  trace  but  dimly, 
far  back  in  the  faint  oonsciousness  of  childhood.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  other  spot  in  the  world  to  which  he  had  a 
natural  right  to  return.  The  friends  whom  he  had  left,  in 
New  York,  as  a  youug  man  of  twenty-one,  had  become  rest" 
less,  impetuous  men  of  business,  from  whose  natures  every 
element  of  calm  had  been  shaken,  while  he  had  slowly  an3 
comfortably  matured  his  manhood  in  the  immemorial  repose 
of  Asia.  The  atmosphere  of  the  city  at  first  excited,  then 
wearied  him.  The  wish  to  visit  Lakeside  was  increasing  in 
his  mind,  when  he  was  one  day  startled  by  seeing  the  prop- 
erty advertised  for  sale,  and  instantly  determined  to  become 
the  purchaser.  A  correspondence  with  Mr.  Hammond  en- 
sued, and,  as  there  was  another  competitor  in  the  field,  Wood- 
bury's anxiety  to  secure  the  old  place  led  him  to  close  the 
negotiations  before  he  had  found  time  to  see  it  again.  Now, 
however,  he  had  made  arrangements  to  spend  the  greater  part 
of  the  winter  there,  as  much  on  account  of  the  certain  repose 
and  seclusion  which  he  craved,  as  from  the  physical  necessity 
of  that  tonic  which  the  dry  cold  of  the  inland  offered  to  his 
languid  tropical  blood. 

No  disposal  had  yet  been  made  of  the  stock  and  implements 
belonging  to  the  farm,  which  had  not  been  included  in  the 
purchase  of  the  estate.  Woodbury's  object  in  buying  the 
land  had  no  reference  to  any  definite  plan  of  his  future  hfe. 
He  had  come  back  from  India  with  a  fortune  which,  though 
moderate,  absolved  him  from  the  necessity  of  labor.  He  sim- 
ply wished  to  have  a  home  of  his  own — an  ark  of  refuge  to 
which  he  could  at  any  time  return — a  sheltered  spot  where 
some  portion  of  his  hfe  might  strike  root.  His  knowledge  of 
farming  was  next  to  nothing.  Yet  the  fields  could  not  be  al- 
lowed to  relapse  into  wilderness,  the  house  must  have  a  house- 
keeper, and  the  necessity  of  continuing  the  present  occupants 
in  their  respective  functions  was  too  apparent  to  be  discussed. 
For  the  present,  at  least,  Mrs.  Babb  and  Arbutus  were  indi* 
pensable  adherents  of  the  property. 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFB.  Si' 

After  dinner,  Mr.  Hammond  paid  them  what  was  duo  from 
the  estate.  Bute  turned  the  money  over  uneasily  in  his  hand, 
grew  red  in  the  face,  and  avoided  meeting  the.eye  of  the  ue\( 
owner.  Mrs.  Babb  straightened  her  long  spine,  took  out  a 
buckskin  purse,  and,  having  put  the  money  therein,  began 
rubbing  the  steel  clasp  with  the  comer  of  her  apron.  Wood, 
oury,  then,  with  a  few  friendly  words,  expressed  his  pleasure 
at  baring  found  them  in  charge  of  Lakeside,  and  his  desire 
that  each  should  continue  to  serve  him  in  the  same  capacity  aa 
before. 

Mrs.  Babb  did  not  betray,  by  the  twitch  of  a  muscle,  the 
relief  she  felt.  On  the  contrary,  she  took  credit  to  herself  for 
jiccepting  her  good  fortune.  "  There's  them  that  would  like 
t<j  hare  me,"  said  she.  "Mrs.  Dennison  never  havin'  said 
nothin'  ag'in  my  housekeepin',  but  the  reverse;  and  I  a'n't 
bound  to  stay,  for  want  of  a  good  home ;  but  somebody  must 
keep  house  for  ye,  and  I'd  hate  to  see  things  goin'  tc  wrack, 
after  keeriu'  for  'em,  a  matter  o'  twenty  year.  Well — I'll 
stay,  I  guess,  and  do  my  best,  as  I've  always  done  it." 

"  JSt  tu,  Bute  ?"  said  Mr.  Hammond,  whose  small  puns 
had  gained  him  a  reputation  for  wit,  in  Tiberius. 

Bute  understood  the  meaning,  not  the  words.  "Fm  glad 
Mr.  Max.  wants  me,"  he  answered,  eagerly.  "  Fd  hate  to  leave 
the  old  place,  though  I'm  able  to  get  my  livin'  most  anywheres. 
But  it'd  be  like  leavin'  home — and  jist  now,  with  that  two 
year  old  colt  to  break,  and  a  couple  o'  steers  that  Fm  goin'  to 
yoke  in  the  spring — it  wouldn't  seem  natural,  like.  Mr.  Max. 
and  me  was  boys  together  here,  and  I  guess  we  can  hitch 
teams  without  kickin'  over  the  traces." 

After  arranging  for  an  inventory  and  appraisal  of  the  live 
tock,  farming  implements,  and  the  greater  part  of  t^^e  furni- 
ture, which  Woodbury  decided  to  retain,  Mr.  Hammond  took 
his  departure.  Mrs.  Babb  prepared  her  tea  at  the  usual  early 
hour.  After  some  little  hesitation,  she  took  her  seat  at  the 
table,  but  evadod  participation  in  the  meal.  Mr.  Woodbury 
«at  much  longer  than  she  was  accustomed  to  see,  in  the  people 


40  HAKNAH  xhubston: 

of  Ptolemy :  he  sipped  his  tea  slowly,  and  actually  accepted  a 
fourth  cup.  Mrs.  Babb's  gratification  reached  its  height  when 
he  began  to  praise  her  preserved  quinces,  but  on  his  unthink 
mgly  declaring  them  to  be  "  better  than  ginger,"  her  grimnesi 
returned. 

"  Better  than  ginger  I  I  should  think  so  1"  was  her  mental 
exclamation. 

Throwing  himself  into  the  old  leather  arm-chair  before  the 
library  fire,  Woodbury  enjoyed  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  No- 
vember evening.  The  wind  had  fallen,  and  the  light  of  a  half- 
moon  lay  upon  the  landscape.  The  vague  illumination,  tlie 
shadowy  outlines  of  the  distant  hills,  and  that  sense  of  isola- 
tion from  the  world  which  now  returned  upon  him,  gratefully 
brought  back  the  half-obliterated  moods  of  his  Indian  life.  He 
almost  expected  to  hear  the  soft  whish  of  the  punka  above  his 
head,  and  to  find,  suddenly,  the  "  hookah-burdar"  at  his 
elbow.  A  cheerful  hickory-fed  flame  replaced  the  one,  and  a 
ripe  Havana  cigar  the  other ;  but  his  repose  was  not  des- 
tined to  be  left  undisturbed.  "  The  woi'ld"  is  not  so  easy  to 
escape.  Even  there,  in  Ptolemy,  it  existed,  and  two  of  its 
special  agents  (self-created)  already  knocked  at  the  door  of 
Lakeside. 

The  housekeeper  ushered  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue  and  the  Hoo. 
Zeno  Harder  into  the  library.  The  latter,  as  Member  of  the 
Legislature,  considered  that  this  call  was  due,  as,  in  some  sort, 
an  oflicial  welcome  to  his  district.  Besides,  his  next  aim  was 
the  State  Senate,  and  the  favor  of  a  new  resident,  whose 
wealth  would  give  him  influence,  could  not  be  secured  toe 
soon.  Mr.  Bue,  as  the  host  of  the  previous  evening,  enjoyed 
an  advantage  over  the  agent  of  the  "  Etna,"  which  he  Wiis  nol 
slow  to  use.  His  politeness  was  composed  of  equal  parts  of 
curiosity  and  the  "  Saratoga  Mutual." 

"  We  thought,  Sir,"  said  the  Hon.  Zeno,  entering,  "  that 
your  first  evening  here  might  be  a  little  lonesome,  and  you'd 
be  glad  to  have  company  for  an  hour  or  so." 

The  Member  was  a  coarse,  obese  man,  with  heavy  chops, 


A    STOBT   OF   AMSKIOAir  LDTB.  4| 

thick,  flat  lips,  small  eyes,  bald  crown,  and  a  voice  which  had 
been  made  harsh  and  aggressive  in  its  tone  by  much  vigorous 
oratory  in  the  open  air.  The  lines  of  his  figure  were  rounded, 
it  is  true,  but  it  was  the  lumpy  roundness  of  a  potato  rather 
Uum  the  swelling,  opulent  curves  of  well-padded  muscle 
Mr  Hamilton  Bue,  in  contrast  to  him,  seemed  to  be  made 
angles.  His  face  and  hands  had  that  lean  dryness  which  sug 
gests  a  body  similarly  constructed,  and  makes  us  thankful  for 
the  invention  of  clothing.  He  was  a  prim,  precise  business 
man,  as  the  long  thin  nose  and  narrow  lips  indicated,  with  a 
trace  of  weakness  in  the  retreatiug  chin.  Neither  of  these 
gentlemen  posfeessed  a  particle  of  that  grapy  bloom  of  ripe 
manhood,  which  tells  of  generous  blood  in  either  cell  of  the 
double  heart.  In  one  the  juice  was  dried  up;  in  the  other  it 
had  become  thick  and  slightly  rancid. 

They  were  not  the  visitors  whom  Woodbury  would  havt 
chosen,  but  the  ostensible  purpose  of  their  call  demanded 
acknowledgment.  He  therefore  gave  them  a  cordial  welcome, 
and  drew  additional  chairs  in  front  of  the  fire.  The  Hon. 
Zeno,  taking  a  cigar,  elevated  his  feet  upon  the  lower  mould- 
mg  of  the  wooden  mantel-piece,  spat  in  the  fire,  and  re- 
marked : 

"  You  find  Ptolemy  changed,  I  dare  say.  Let  me  see — 
when  were  you  here  last  ?  In  '82  ?  I  must  have  been  study- 
ing law  in  Tiberius  at  that  time.  Oh,  it's  scarcely  the  same 
place.  So  many  went  West  after  the  smash  in  '37,  and  new 
people  have  come  in — new  people  and  new  idees,  I  may 
say." 

"  We  have  certainly  shared  in  the  general  progression  oi 
the  country,  even  during  my  residence  here,"  said  Mr.  Ham* 
ilton  Bue,  carefully  assuming  his  oflBcial  style.  "Ten  years 
ago,  there  were  but  thirty-seven  names  on  the  books  of  th« 
Saratoga  Mutual.  Now  we  count  a  hundred  and  thirteen 
But  there  is  a  reason  for  it :  the  Company  pays  its  loss  puno- 
tually — most  punctually." 

Unconscious    of    this    dexterous    advertising,    Woodburj 


tt  HANITAH  THURSTON : 

answered  the  Hon.  Zeno:  "  Since  I  am  to  be,  for  a  while,  • 
member  of  your  community,  I  am  interested  in  learning  somfr 
thing  more  about  it.  What  are  the  new  ideas  you  mentioned, 
Mr.  Harder?" 

"  Well,  Sir, — ^I  can't  exactly  say  that  Hunkerism  is  a  ne"W 
thing  in  politics.  I'm  a  Barnburner,  you  must  know,  and 
since  the  split  it  seems  like  new  parties,  though  we  hold  on  to 
the  old  principles.  Then  there's  the  Temperance  Reform — 
Bwep'  every  thing  before  it,  at  first,  but  slacking  off  just  now 
The  Abolitionists,  it's  hardly  worth  while  to  count — there's  so 
few  of  them — but  they  make  a  mighty  noise.  Go  for  Non- 
Resistance,  Women's  Rights,  and  all  other  Isms.  So,  you  see, 
compared  to  the  old  times,  when  'twas  only  Whig  and  Demo- 
crat, the  deestrict  is  pretty  well  stirred  up." 

Mr.  Bue,  uncertain  as  to  the  views  of  his  host  upon  some  of 
the  subjects  mentioned,  and  keeping  a  sharp  eye  to  his  own 
interests,  here  remarked  in  a  mild,  placable  tone :  "  I  don't 
know  that  it  does  any  harm.  People  must  have  their  own 
opinions,  and  there's  no  law  to  hinder  it.  In  fact,  frequent 
discussion  is  a  means  of  intellectual  iraprovement." 

"  But  what's  the  use  of  discussing  what's  contrary  to  Scrip- 
tur'  and  Reason?"  cried  the  Hon.  Zeno,  in  his  out-door  voice. 
"  0%ir  party  is  for  Free  Soil,  and  you  can't  go  further  under 
the  Constitution, — so,  what's  the  use  in  talking?  Non- 
Resistance  might  be  Christian  enough,  if  all  men  was  saints ; 
but  we've  got  to  take  things  as  we  find  'em.  When  you're 
hit,,  hit  back,  if  you  want  to  do  any  good  in  these  times.  As 
for  Women's  Rights,  it's  the  biggest  humbug  of  all.  A 
pretty  mess  we  should  be  in,  if  it  could  be  carried  out  I  Think 
of  my  wife  taking  the  stump  against  Mrs.  Blackford,  and  me 
and  him  doing  the  washing  and  cooking  !" 

"  Who  was  the  Abolitionist — for  such  I  took  him  to  be — 
with  whom  you  were  talking,  last  evening,  at  Mr.  Bue's?" 
Woodbury  asked. 

"  Wattles — a  tailor  in  Ptolemy — one  of  the  worst  fanatic* 
among  'eml"  the  irate  Zeno  replied.      "Believes  in  all  th« 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LTTE.  41 

fsms,  and  thinks  himself  a  great  Reformer.  It's  disgusting  to 
hear  a  man  talk  about  Women's  Rights,  as  he  does.  I  don't 
mind  it  so  much  in  Hannah  Thurston ;  but  the  fact  is,  she's 
more  of  a  man  than  the  most  of  'em.' 

"  Hannah  Thurston  !  Is  not  that  the  lady  who  sang"— a 
pale,  earnest-looking  girl,  in  a  gray  dress  ?" 

"  I  did'nt  notice  her  dress,"  the  Member  answered.  "  She 
■ings,  though — not  much  voice,  but  what  she  has  tells  amaz- 
ingly. Between  ourselves,  I'll  admit  that  she's  a  first-rate 
speaker — that  is,  for  a  woman.  I  was  tempted  to  have  a 
round  with  her,  at  the  last  meeting  they  held  ;  but  then,  you 
know,  a  woman  always  has  you  at  a  disadvantage.  You 
daren't  give  it  back  to  them  as  sharp  as  you  get  it." 

"  Do  you  really  mean  that  she  makes  public  harangues  ?" 
exclaimed  Woodbury,  who,  in  his  long  absence  from  home, 
had  lost  sight  of  many  new  developments  in  American 
society. 

"  Yes,  and  not  bad  ones,  either,  when  you  consider  the  sub- 
ject.  Her  mother  used  to  preach  in  Quaker  Meetings,  so  it 
doesn't  seem  quite  so  strange  as  it  might.  Besides,  she  isn't 
married,  and  one  can  make  some  allowance.  But  when  Sarah 
Merryfield  gets  up  and  talks  of  the  tyranny  of  man,  it's  a 
little  too  much  for  me.  I'd  like  to  know,  now,  exactly  what 
her  meek  lout  of  a  husband  thinks  about  it." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Waldo,  also,  an  advocate  of  the  new  doctrine  ?'* 

"  She  ?  No  indeed.  She  has  her  rights  already :  that  is, 
all  that  a  woman  properly  knows  how  to  use.  Though  I  don't 
like  the  Cimmerian  doctrine — Mr.  Waldo  is  pastor  of  th« 
Cimmerians — yet  I  think  she's  a  much  better  Christian  than 
the  Merryfields,  who  still  hang  on  to  our  Church." 

"What  are  the  Cimmerians?"  inquired  Woodbury.  "Are 
they  so  called  from  the  darkness  of  their  doctrines  ?" 

The  Hon.  Zeno  did  not  understand  the  classical  allusion 
"  They're  followers  of  the  Rev.  Beza  Cimraer,"  he  said.  "  He 
was  first  a  Seceder,  I  believe,  but  differed  with  them  on  ths 
doctrine  of  Grace.     Besides,  they  think  that  Baptism,  to  b« 


€4  HANNAH   THURSTOW: 

saving,  must  be  in  exact  imitation  of  that  of  the  Saviour 
The  preacher  wears  a  hair  garment,  like  John  the  Baptistj 
when  he  performs  the  ceremony,  and  the  converts  long,  white 
'•obes.  They  pick  out  some  creek  for  their  Jordan,  and  do 
not  allow  outsiders  to  be  present.  They  don't  grow  in  nuna^ 
bers,  and  have  but  a  very  small  congregation  in  Ptolemy.  In 
fact,  Mr.  Waldo  is  considered  rather  shaky  by  some  of  the 
o'«der  members,  who  were  converted  by  Cimmer  himself.  He 
don't  hold  very  close  communion." 

A  part  of  this  explanation  was  incomprehensible  to  Wood- 
bury, who  was  not  yet  familiar  with  the  catch-words  which 
fall  so  glibly  from  the  mouths  of  country  theologians.  He 
detected  the  Member's  disposition  to  harangue  instead  of 
converse — a  tendency  which  could  only  be  prevented  by  a 
frequent  and  dexterous  change  of  subject.  "  Your  church,'* 
he  said ; — " I  take  it  for  gianted  you  refer  to  that  of  Mr. 
Styles, — seems  to  be  in  a  flourishing  condition." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Hamilton  Bue,  "  we  have  prospered 
under  his  ministry.  Some  have  backslidden,  it  is  true,  but  we 
have  had  encouraging  seasons  of  revival.  Our  ladies  are  now 
very  earnest  in  the  work  of  assisting  the  Jutnapore  Mission. 
Mrs.  Boerum  is  from  Syracuse,  and  a  particular  friend  of  Miss 
Eliza  Clancy.  I  think  Miss  Eliza  herself  would  have  gone 
if  she  had  been  called  in  time.  You  know  it  requires  a 
double  call." 

"  A  double  call !  Excuse  me  if  I  do  not  quite  understand 
you,"  said  the  host. 

"  Why,  of  course,  they  must  first  be  called  to  the  work} 
md  then,  as  they  can't  go  alone  among  the  heathen,  they 
musi  afterwards  depend  on  a  personal  call  from  some  un- 
married missionary.  Now  Miss  Clancy  is  rather  too  olfl 
for  that." 

Woodbury  could  not  repress  a  smile  at  this  naive  statement, 
although  it  was  made  with  entire  gravity.  "  I  have  seen  some- 
thing of  your  missions  in  India,"  he  at  last  remarked,  "  and 
believe  that  they  are  canable  of  accomplisihing  much  good. 


A    STORY    OF   AMBBICAK   LIFE.  41 

Still,  you  must  not  expect  immediate  returns.  It  is  only  tlw 
lowest  caste  that  is  now  reached,  and  the  Christianizing  of 
India  must  come,  eventually,  from  the  highest.'-' 

Rather  than  discuss  a  subject  of  which  he  was  ignorant,  the 
Hon.  Zeno  started  a  new  topic.  "  By  the  way,  the  next  meet- 
ing of  the  Sewing  Union  will  be  at  Menyfield's.  Shall  you 
•ttend,  Mr.  Woodbury  ?" 

"  Yes.  They  are  among  the  few  persons  who  have  kept  me 
m  good  remembrance,  though  they,  too,  from  what  you  have 
said,  must  be  greatly  changed  since  I  used  to  play  with  their 
Bon  Absalom.     I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  of  his  death." 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  replied  the  Member,  biting  off  the  end  of  a 
fresh  cigar.  "  Absalom  was  really  a  fine,  promising  fellow, 
but  they  spoiled  him  with  their  Isms.  They  were  Graham ites 
for  a  year  or  two — lived  on  bran  bread  and  turnips,  boiled 
wheat  and  dried  apples.  Absalom  took  up  that  and  the 
water-cure,  and  wanted  to  become  a  patent  first-class  reformer. 
Now,  Temperance  is  a  good  thing — though  I  can't  quite  go 
the  Maine  Law — but  water  inside  of  you  and  outside  of  you, 
summer  and  winter  alike,  isn't  temperance,  according  to  my 
idee.  He  had  a  spell  of  pleurisy,  one  winter,  and  doctored 
himself  for  it.  His  lungs  were  broken  up,  after  that,  and  he 
went  off  the  very  next  fall.  They  set  a  great  deal  of  store 
by  him." 

"  Is  it  possible  that  such  delusions  are  held  by  intelligent 
persons  ?"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  shocked  as  well  as  sur- 
prised. "  I  hope  these  theories  are  not  included  in  the  gene- 
ral progress  of  which  Mr.  Bue  spoke.  But  I  have  almost  for- 
gotten ray  duty  as  a  host.  The  nights  are  getting  cold,  gen 
tlemen,  and  perhaps  you  will  take  a  glass  of  wine." 

The  Ilcn.  Zeno's  small  eyes  twinkled,  and  his  lips  twitched 
'liquorously.     "  Well — I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  he. 

Mr.  Hamilton  Bue  was  silent,  and  slightly  embarrassed.  He 
had  found  it  necessary  to  join  the  Temperance  Society,  be- 
cause the  reform  was  a  popular  one.  He  always  went  with 
the  current  as  soon  as  it   became  too  strong  to  stem  con 


4d  HA.NNAH  THUBSTOlf: 

leniently.  But  the  temptation  to  indulge  still  lurked  in  hil 
thin  blood.  It  was  evident  that  the  Member,  for  his  own 
sake,  would  not  mention  the  circumstance,  and  Mr.  Wood 
bury,  in  all  probability,  would  never  think  of  it  again. 

Some  of  Mi-s.  Babb's  "Madary"  presently  twinkled  like 
smoky  topaz  iu  the  light  of  the  wood-fire.  Mr.  Bue  at  first 
sipped  hesitatingly,  like  a  bather  dipping  his  toes,  with  a 
shudder,  into  the  waters  of  a  cold  river ;  but  having  once 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  glass — so  quickly,  indeed,  that  it 
e:icited  his  own  sm-prise — he  made  the  next  plunge  with  the 
boldness  of  a  man  accustomed  to  it. 

"You  will  attend  church,  I  presume,  Mr.  Woodbury?" 
said  he.     "  Of  course  you  have  convictions.'* 

"  Certainl  v  "  Woodbury  answered,  without  a  clear  idea  oi 
wnai  was  meant  by  the  word — "  very  strong  ones." 

"  Of  course — it  could  not  be  otherwise.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  if  you  will  now  and  then  accept  a  seat  in  my  pew.  Mr, 
Styles  is  a  great  authority  on  Galatians,  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  derive  spiritual  refreshment  from  his  sermons." 

Here  the  Hon.  Zeno  rose  and  commenced  buttoning  his 
coat,  as  a  signal  of  departure.  Growing  confidential  from  hia 
inner  warmth,  he  placed  one  hand  aflfectionately  on  Wood- 
bury's shoulder,  somewhat  to  the  latter's  disgust,  and  said: 
"  Now  you  are  one  of  us,  Woodbury,  you  must  take  an  active 
part  in  our  political  concerns.  Great  principles  are  at  stake, 
Sir,  and  the  country  has  need  of  men  like  you.  Let  me  warn 
you  against  the  Hunkers — their  game  is  nearly  played  out 
I'll  be  most  happy,  Sir,  to  explain  to  you  the  condition  of 
parties.     Youll  find  me  well  posted  up." 

Mr.  Bue  took  occasion  to  make  a  parting  hint  in  the  interest 
of  the  Saratoga  Mutiral.  "  If  you  wish  to  have  your  house  in- 
sured, Mr.  Woodbury,"  said  he,  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  send  yow 
our  pamphlets.  The  Company  is  so  well  known,  fortunately, 
that  its  name  is  a  sufiicient  recommendation." 

The  owner  of  Lakeside  stood  on  the  verandah,  watching 
bis  guests  drive  down  the  maple  avenue.     As  the  soimd  oi 


A   STOBT    OF    ^lAIEBICAK   LIPB.  IV 

their  trheels  sank  below  the  brow  of  the  hill,  the  muffled 
voice  of  Roaring  Brook  came  softly  to  him,  across  the  dark 
meadows.  A  part  of  Atauga  Lake  threw  back  the  light  of 
the  descending  moon.  "Here,"  thought  he,  "is  the  com. 
mencement  of  a  new  existence.  It  is  not  the  old,  boyish  life 
of  which  I  dreamed,  but  something  very  different.  I  foresee 
that  I  sliall  have  to  accustom  myself  to  many  features  of  this 
society,  which  are  not  attractive — some  of  them  even  repug- 
nant— and  perhaps  the  only  counterbalancing  delight  left  to 
me  will  be  the  enjoyment  of  this  lovely  scenery,  the  peace  of 
this  secluded  life.  Will  that  be  sufficient?  Or  will  these 
oaks  and  pines  at  last  pall  upon  my  eye,  like  the  palms  and 
banyans  of  the  East  ?  No :  one  cannot  be  satisfied  with  ex- 
ternal resources.  I  must  study,  with  a  liberal  human  interest 
the  characteristics  of  this  little  community,  however  strange 
or  repellant  they  may  seem ;  and  certainly,  after  making 
friends  among  the  fossilized  Brahmins,  there  must  be  a  few 
among  my  fellow-Christians  and  fellow-countrymen,  whom  1 
can  heartily  respect  and  love.  Those  long  Indian  years  must 
be  placed  in  a  closed  Past,  and  I  must  adapt  myself  to  habits 
and  associations,  which  have  become  more  foreign  than 
fanuliar  to  me." 


4i  HAiTNAH  TOVBsroa : 


CHAPTER  rV. 
▲IT  nraBBvurw^  on  the  boad,  and  a  new  household. 

I'he  Indian  Summer  still  held  its  ground,  keeping  back  the 
winter's  vanguard  of  frost  and  keen  nor' westers.  Day  by 
day  the  smoky  air  became  more  densely  blue  and  still,  and 
the  leaves,  long  since  dead,  hung  upon  the  trees  for  want  of  a 
loosening  wind.  The  hickory-nuts  fell  by  their  own  weight, 
pattering  here  and  there  in  the  woods,  in  single  smart  raps, 
and  giving  out  a  vigorous  balsamic  odor,  as  their  cleft  rinds 
burst  open.  Only  at  night  a  gathering  chiU  and  a  low  moan- 
ing in  the  air  gave  the  presage  of  an  approaching  change  in 
the  season. 

On  one  of  those  warm  forenoons  which  almost  reproduce 
the  languor  and  physical  yearning  of  the  opening  Spring, 
Bute  Wilson,  mounted  on  Dick,  the  old  farm-horse,  jogged 
slowly  along  the  road  to  Ptolemy,  whistling  "  The  Rose  that 
All  are  Praising,"  a  melody  which  he  had  learned  at  the 
singing-school.  Bute  was  bound  for  the  village,  on  a  variety 
of  errands,  and  carried  a  basket  on  his  arm.  Dick's  delibe- 
rate gait  seemed  to  be  in  harmony  with  the  current  of  his 
thoughts.  The  horse  understood  his  rider,  and  knew  very 
well  when  to  take  his  ease,  and  when  to  summon  up  the  little 
Jife  left  in  his  stiff  old  legs.  Horses  are  better  interpreters  of 
one's  moods  than  the  most  of  one's  human  friends. 

Bute  was  a  very  good  specimen  of  the  American  country, 
man.  A  Uttle  over  the  average  height,  and  compacted  ol 
coarse,  hardy  fibre,  he  possessed,  in  spite  of  the  common 
stock  from  which  he  had  sprung,  the  air  of  independent  self- 
respect  which  a  laboring  man  can  only  acquire  '"^  a  commu- 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFfi.  ♦• 

nity  where  caste  is  practically  ignored.  His  independence, 
however,  liad  not  degenerated  into  impudence :  he  knew  his 
deficiencies  of  nature  and  education,  and  did  not  attempt  to 
off-set  them  by  a  vulgar  assertion  of  equality.  He  could  sit 
St  Mr.  Woodbury's  table  (using  the  knife  a  little  too  freely) 
without  embarrassment,  and  could  take  his  dinner  in  the 
kitchen  without  being  conscious  of  degradation.  His  horses, 
cattle,  and  crops  occupied  the  first  place  in  his  mind — him 
self — no,  another  person  had  the  second  place — and  his  own 
personality  gave  him  the  least  trouble.  He  was  a  general 
favorite  in  the  neighborhood,  and  his  position  was,  perhaps, 
more  fortunate  than  he  knew,  though  the  knowledge  of  it 
would  not  have  made  him  happier  than  he  was.  He  was  hon- 
estly respected  by  those  below,  and  not  looked  down  upon  by 
those  above  him.  This  consideration  was  won  by  his  thorough 
frankness,  simplicity,  and  kindness  of  heart.  His  face  was  too 
broad  and  his  nose  too  thick,  to  be  called  handsome ;  but 
there  were  fewer  eyes  into  which  men  looked  with  more  satis- 
faction than  the  pair  of  large  blue-gray  ones,  divided  by  the 
nose  aforesaid.  His  forehead  was  rather  low,  but  open  and 
smooth,  and  his  yellow  hair,  curling  a  little  at  the  ends,  grew 
back  from  the  temples  with  a  sturdy  set,  as  if  determined  that 
they  should  not  be  hidden.  Add  to  these  traits  a  voice  mel- 
low in  spite  of  its  volume — the  cattle  understood  its  every  in 
flection — and  it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  Bute  was  in  especial 
favor  with  the  opposite  sex.  From  head  to  foot.  Nature  had 
written  upon  him :  This  man  is  a  male. 

Bute  had  climbed  the  rise  beyond  Roaring  Brook,  when  his 
reveries,  whatever  they  might  have  been,  were  interrupted  by 
the  sight  of  a  woman,  walking  towards  Ptolemy,  a  short  di* 
tance  in  advance  of  him.  Although  no  other  person  was  near, 
to  play  the  spy,  he  felt  the  blood  creeping  up  to  his  ears,  as 
he  looked  keenly  and  questioningly  at  the  little  figure,  in  its 
dark-blue  merino  dress,  tripping  forward  with  short,  quick 
Bteps.  Dick  noticed  the  change  in  his  master,  and  broke  into 
*  trot  down  the  gentle  slope.  At  the  sound  of  hoofs,  the  figure 
S 


so  HANNAH   THtTESTON: 

tnrusd,  disclosing  a  bunch  of  brown  ringlets  and  a  saucy  littl« 
nose,  then  drew  to  one  side  of  the  road  and  stopped. 

"  Good-morning,  Illiss  Carrie !"  cried  Bute,  as  he  drew  roin, 
on  approaching :  "  I  thought  it  was  you.  Goin'  to  Ptolemy  ? 
So  ara  I.  Git  up  on  the  bank,  and  I'll  take  ye  on  behind  rae, 
Dick  11  carry  double — he's  as  quiet  as  a  lamb.  Here,  I'll  jerk 
oJf  my  coat  for  you  to  set  on."  And  he  had  his  right  arm  out 
of  the  sleeve  before  he  had  finished  speaking. 

"Ah!"  cried  the  lady,  afiecting  a  mild  scream;  "No,  in- 
deed, Mr.  Wilson !  I  am  so  afraid  of  horses.  Besides,  I  don't 
think  it  would  look  right." 

It  suddenly  occurred  to-  Bute's  mind,  that,  in  order  to  ride 
as  he  had  proposed,  she  would  be  obliged  to  clasp  him  with 
both  arms.  Heaving  a  sigh  of  regret,  he  drew  on  his  coat  and 
jumped  off  the  horse. 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  ride  with  me,  I'll  walk  with  you,  anv 
how.     How's  your  health,  Miss  Carrie  ?"  offering  his  hand. 

"  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Wilson.  How's  Mrs.  Babb  ? 
And  I  hear  that  Mr.  Woodbury  has  come  to  live  with  you." 

Miss  Caroline  Dilworth  was  too  well  satisfied  at  meeting  with 
Bute,  to  decline  his  proffered  company.  She  was  on  her  way 
from  the  house  of  a  neighboring  farmer,  where  she  had  been 
spending  a  fortnight  as  seamstress,  to  the  cottage  of  the  widow 
Thurston,  who  lived  on  the  edge  of  the  village.  The  old 
lady's  health  was  declining,  and  Miss  Dilworth  occasionall)' 
rendered  a  friendly  assistance  to  the  daughter.  They  were 
both  always  glad  to  see  the  lively,  chattering  creature,  in  spite 
of  her  manifold  weaknesses  and  affectations.  She  was  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  at  least,  but  assumed  all  the  timidity  and  in- 
experience of  a  girl  of  sixteen,  always  wearing  her  hair  in  a 
mesh  of  natural  ringlets  which  hung  about  her  neck,  and  talk- 
ing with  a  soft  childish  drawl,  unless — which  rarely  hap])en 
ed — she  was  so  very  much  in  earnest  as  to  forget  herself.  Her 
ttose  was  piquantly  retrousse,  her  mouth  small  and  cherry-reJ, 
and  her  complexion  fair  (for  she  took  great  care  of  it) ;  but 
her  eyes  inclined  to  pale-green  rather  than  blue,  and  she  had 


A   SIOHT   OF   A&LEBICAIT  UEE.  51 

AD  affected  habit  of  dropping  the  lids.  Perhaps  this  was  to 
conceal  the  unpleasant  redness  of  their  edges,  for  they  wer« 
oftentimes  so  inflamed  as  to  oblige  her  to  suspelid  her  occupa- 
tion. Her  ambition  was,  to  become  a  teacher — a  post  foi 
which  she  was  not  at  all  qualified.  Hannah  Thurston,  how 
ever,  had  kindly  offered  to  assist  her  in  preparing  herself  foi 
the  coveted  career. 

What  it  was  that  attracted  Bute  Wilson  to  Miss  Dilworth, 
he  was  unable  to  tell.  Had  the  case  been  reversed,  we  should 
not  wonder  at  it.  Only  this  much  was  certain ;  her  society 
was  a  torment  to  him,  her  absence  a  pain.  He  would  have  cut 
off  his  little  finger  for  the  privilege  of  just  once  lifting  her  in 
his  strong  arms,  and  planting  a  kiss  square  upon  the  provok- 
ing mouth,  which,  as  if  conscious  of  its  surplus  of  sweetness, 
could  say  so  many  bitter  things  to  him.  Bute  had  never 
spoken  to  her  of  the  feeUng  which  she  inspired  in  him.  Why 
should  he?  She  knew  just  how  he  felt,  and  he  knew  that  she 
knew  it.  She  played  with  him  as  he  had  many  a  time  piayed 
with  a  big  trout  at  the  end  of  his  line.  Over  and  over  again 
he  had  been  on  the  point  of  giving  her  up,  out  of  sheer  worri- 
ment  and  exhaustion  of  soul,  when  a  sudden  look  from  those 
downcast  eyes,  a  soft  word,  half  whispered  in  a  voice  whose 
deliberate  sweetness  tingled  through  him,  from  heart  to  finger- 
ends,  bound  him  faster  than  ever.  Miss  Dilworth  little  sus- 
pected Low  many  rocks  she  had  sledged  to  pieces,  how  many 
extra  swaths  she  had  mowed  in  June,  and  shocks  of  corn  she 
had  husked  in  October,  through  Bute  Wilson's  arm.  If  Mr. 
Woodbury  were  a  cunning  employer,  he  would  take  measures 
to  prolong  this  condition  of  suspense. 

On  the  present  occasion,  the  affected  little  rainx  was  un- 
usually gracious  towards  her  victim.  She  had  a  keen  curiosity 
to  gratify.  "  Now,  Bute,"  said  she,  as  they  started  togethei 
towards  Ptolemy,  Bute  leading  Dick  by  the  bridle  ;  "  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  all  about  this  Mr.  Woodbmy.  What  kind  of  a 
man  is  he  ?" 

"  He's  only  been  with  us  three  or  four  days.     To  be  sure,  1 


SS  ua:snaii  thueston  : 

kuowed  him  as  a  boy,  but  that's  long  ago,  and  I  may  have  to 
learn  him  over  ag'in.  It  won't  be  a  hard  thing  to  do,  though : 
he's  a  gentleman,  if  there  ever  was  one.  He's  a  man  that'll 
always  do  what's  right,  if  he  knows  how." 

"  I  mean,  Bute,  how  he  looks.  Tall  or  short  ?  Is  he  hand- 
dome  ?     Isn't  he  burnt  very  black,  or  is  it  worn  oiBf ?" 

"  Not  so  many  questions  at  once,  Miss  Carrie.  He  a'n*t 
blacker  'n  I'd  be  now,  if  I  was  complected  like  him.  Tall,  you 
might  call  him — nigh  two  inches  more'n  I  am,  and  a  reg'lar 
pictur'  of  a  man,  though  a  bit  thinner  than  he'd  ought  to  be. 
But  I  dunno  whether  yo-iiCd  call  him  handsome :  women  has 
sich  queer  notions.  Now,  there's  that  Seth  Wattles,  that  yoa 
think  sich  a  beauty — " 

'*^Bute  Wilson!  You  know  I  don't  think  any  such  thing  1 
It's  Seth's  mind  that  I  admire.  There's  such  a  thing  as  moral 
and  intellectual  beauty,  but  that  you  don't  understand." 

"  No,  hang  it ! — nor  don't  want  to,  if  Ae's  got  it !  I  believe 
in  a  man's  doin'  what  he  purtends  to  do — keepin'  his  mind  on 
his  work,  whatever  it  is.  If  Seth  Wattles  lays  out  to  be  a 
tailor,  let  him  he  one :  if  he  wants  to  be  a  moral  and  intel- 
lectual beauty,  he  may  try  that,  for  all  I  keer — but  he  can't  do 
both  to  once't.  I  wish  he'd  make  better  trowsus,  or  give  up 
his  business." 

Miss  Dilworth  knew  her  own  weakness,  and  carefully  avoid- 
ed entering  into  a  discussion.  She  was  vexed  that  one  of  the 
phrases  she  had  caught  from  Hannah  Thurston,  and  which  she 
had  frequently  used  with  much  eflfect,  had  rattled  harmlessly 
against  the  hard  mail  of  Bute's  common  sense.  At  another 
time  she  would  have  taken — or  have  seemed  to  take — offence, 
at  his  rough  speech ;  but  she  had  not  yet  heard  enough  of  Mr. 
Woodbuiy. 

"  Well,  never  mind  Seth,"  she  said,  "  you've  hot  finished  tell- 
ing me  about  your  new  master.^'' 

If  she  had  intended  to  prick  Bute  with  this  word,  she  utterly 
failed.  He  quietly  resumed  the  description:  "Every  man 
that  I  like  is  handsome  to  me ;  but  I  think  any  woman  would 


A    STOKY    OF    AMERICAN   IXFS.  53 

admire  to  see  Mr.  Max.  He's  got  big  brown  eyes,  like  ti  am 
o'  the  doe  Master  Harry  used  to  have,  and  a  straight  nose,  like 
one  o'  the  plaster  heads  in  the  libery.  He  wears  a  beard  on 
hifl  upper  lip,  but  no  whiskers,  and  his  hair  is  brown,  and  sort 
o'|Curlin'.  He's  a  man  that  knows  what  he's  about,  and  can 
make  up  his  mind  in  five  minutes,  and  looks  you  straight  lo 
the  face  when  he  talks ;  and  if  he'd  a  hard  thing  to  say  (though 
he's  said  nothin'  o'  the  kind  to  me),  he'd  say  it  without  flinchui', 
a  little  worse  to  your  face  than  what  he'd  say  behind  y'r  back. 
But  wliat  I  like  best  in  him,  is,  that  he  knows  how  to  mind  his 
own  business,  without  botherin'  himself  about  other  folks's. 
You  wouldn't  ketch  him  a  pitchin'  into  me  because  I  chaw 
tobacco,  like  Seth  Wattles  did,  with  all  his  moral  and  inteUeo* 
tual  beauty." 

"  Oh,  but,  Bute,  you  know  it's  so  unhealthy.  I  do  wisd 
you'd  give  it  up." 

"  Unhealthy  !  Stuff  and  nonsense — ^look  at  me !"  And,  in 
deed  Bute,  stopping,  straightening  himself,  throwing  out  hia 
breast,  and  striking  it  with  a  hard  fist  until  it  rang  like  a  muf- 
fled drum,  presented  a  picture  of  lusty,  virile  strength,  which 
few  men  in  the  neighborhood  of  Ptolemy  could  have  matched, 
"Unhealthy!"  he  continued;  "I  s'pose  you'd  call  Seth 
healthy,  with  his  tallow  face,  and  breast-bone  caved  in.  Why, 
the  woman  that  marries  him  can  use  his  ribs  for  a  wash-board, 
when  she's  lost  her'n.  Then  there  was  Absalom  Merryfield, 
you  know,  killed  himself  out  and  out,  he  was  so  keerful  o'  his 
health.  I'd  ruther  have  no  health  at  aU,  a  darned  sight,  than 
worry  my  life  out,  thinkin'  on  it.  Not  that  I  could'nt  give 
up  chawin'  tobacco,  or  any  thing  else,  if  there  was  a  good 
reason  for  it.  What  is  it  to  you,  Carrie,  whether  I  chaw  or 
not  ?" 

Miss  Dilworth  very  well  understood  Bute's  meaning,  but 
let  it  go  without  notice,  as  he  knew  she  would.  The  truth  is, 
she  was  not  insensible  to  his  many  good  qualities,  but  she  wa« 
ambitious  of  higher  game.  She  had  not  attended  all  the  meet- 
mgs  held  in  Ptolemy,  in  favor  of  Temperance,  Anti-Slavery 


C4  HANNAH    THURSTON  : 

and  Women  s  Rights,  without  imbibing  as  mnch  conceit  u 
the  basis  of  her  small  mind  could  support.  The  expr*msion> 
which,  from  frequent  repetition,  she  had  caught  and  retained, 
were  put  to  such  constant  use,  that  she  at  last  fancied  them 
half  original,  and  sighed  for  a  more  important  sphere  than 
that  of  a  sempstress,  or  even  a  teacher.  She  knew  she  could 
never  become  a  speaker — she  was  sure  of  that — ^but  might  sh 
not  be  selected  by  some  orator  of  Reform,  as  a  kindx'ed  soul, 
to  support  him  with  her  sympathy  and  appreciation  ?  Thus 
for,  however,  her  drooping  lids  had  been  lifted  and  her  curls 
elaborately  tangled,  in  vain.  The  eloquent  disciples,  not 
understanding  these  mute  appeals,  passed  by  on  the  other  side. 

She  drew  the  conversation  back  to  Mr.  Woodbury,  and 
kept  it  to  that  theme  until  she  had  ascertained  all  that  Bute 
knew,  or  was  willing  to  tell ;  for  the  latter  had  such  a  strong 
sense  of  propriety  about  matters  of  this  kind,  as  might  have 
inspired  doubts  of  his  being  a  native-born  American.  By  thia 
time  they  had  reached  the  bridge  over  East  Atauga  Creek, 
whence  it  was  but  a  short  distance  to  the  village. 

"  There  is  Friend  Thurston's  cottage,  at  last,"  said  Miss 
Dilworth.  "  Have  you  seen  Miss  Hannah  lately  ?  But,  of 
course,  she  can't  visit  Lakeside  now." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  it,"  Bute  remarked.  "  She's  a  fine  woman, 
in  spite  of  her  notions.     But  why  can't  she  ?" 

"  It  would  not  be  proper." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  proper  for  a  man  to  visit  us  ?" 

"  To  be  sure.     How  queer  you  talk,  Bute  !" 

"  Well — she  says  a  woman  should  be  allowed  to  do  what 
ever  a  man  does.  If  Women's  Rights  is  worth  talkin'  about, 
t's  worth  carryin'  out.  But  I  guess  Miss  Hannah's  more  of  • 
woman  than  she  knows  on.  I  like  to  hear  her  talk,  mighty 
well,  and  she  says  a  good  many  things  that  I  can't  answer, 
but  they're  ag'in  nature,  for  all  that.  If  she  was  married  and 
had  a  family  growin'  up  'round  her,  she  wouldn't  want  to  be  a 
lawyer  or  a  preacher.  Here  we  are,  at  the  gate.  Good-bj, 
Miss  Carrie  1" 


A   STOET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFB.  W 

**  6ood-by,  Bute !"  said  Miss  Dilworth,  mechanically, 
pausing  at  the  gate  to  see  him  spring  into  the  saddle  and  trot 
rapidly  down  the  street.  She  was  confounded,  and  a  little 
*"gry,  at  the  nonchalance  with  which  he  treated  her  oracle. 
"  I  wish  it  had  been  Hannah  Thurston,  instead  of  me,"  Bh« 
said  to  herself,  with  a  spiteful  toss  of  her  head — "  she  has 
in  answer  ready  for  everybody." 

The  plot  of  ground  in  front  of  the  cottage  already  wore 
ts  winter  livery.  The  roses  were  converted  into  little  obe- 
lisks of  straw,  the  flower-beds  were  warmly  covered,  and  only 
the  clumps  of  arbor-vitae  and  the  solitary  balsam-fir  were  al- 
lowed to  display  their  hardy  green.  Miss  Dilworth  passed 
around  the  house  to  the  kitchen  entrance,  for  she  knew  the 
fondness  of  the  inmates  for  warmth  and  sunshine,  and  thr 
sitting-room  which  they  habitually  occupied  looked  south 
ward,  over  the  vegetable  garden,  to  the  meadows  of  the  east- 
ern valley.  Every  thing  was  scrupulously  neat  and  ordered. 
The  tops  of  vegetables  left  for  seed  and  the  dead  stalks  of 
summer  flowers  had  been  carefully  removed  from  the  garden. 
The  walks  had  been  swept  by  a  broom,  and  the  wood-shed, 
elsewhere  more  or  less  chaotic  in  its  appearance,  was  here 
visited  by  the  same  implement.  Its  scattered  chips  seemed 
to  have  arranged  themselves  into  harmonious  forms,  like  the 
atoms  of  sand  under  the  influence  of  musical  tones. 

In  the  kitchen  a  girl  of  thirteen — the  only  servant  the 
house  afibrded — was  watching  the  kettles  and  pans  on  the 
cooking-stove.  This  operation  might  have  been  carried  on  in 
the  parlor  just  as  well,  so  little  appearance  was  there  of  the 
isual  "  slops"  and  litter  of  a  kitchen.  This  was  Friend 
Thurston's  specialty  as  a  housekeeper — her  maxim  was,  that 
there  should  be  no  part  of  a  house  where  a  visitor  might  not 
be  received.  Tier  neiglibors  always  spoke  of  her  kitchen  with 
%ii  admiration  wheroin  there  was  a  slight  mixture  of  despair. 

The  sitting-room,  beyond,  was  made  cheerful  by  windows 
opening  to  th"  soiuh  and  east ;  but  more  so  by  the  homely 
simplicity  and    comfort   ol'  its   arrangement.      Every  objed 


6t  HAITKAH  THTTESTOlf  : 

spoke  of  limited  means,  but  nothing  of  pinched  self-denial 
The  motley-colored  rag  carpet  was  clean,  thick,  and  warm ; 
the  chintz  sofa  was  relieved  by  inviting  cushions  ;  the  old- 
fashioned  rocking-chair  was  so  stuffed  and  padded  as  to  remedy 
its  stiffness;  the  windows  were  curtained,  and  a  few  brands  were 
smouldering  among  vrhite  ashes  in  the  grate.  A  shelf  inside 
the  southern  window  held  some  tea-roses  in  pots,  mignionette, 
heliotrope,  and  scarlet  verbenas.  There  were  but  three  pictures — 
a  head  of  Milton,  an  old  wood-engraving  of  the  cottage  where 
George  Fox  was  born,  and  a  tolerable  copy  of  the  Madonna 
della  Seggiola.  On  a  stand  in  the  comer  were  the  favorite 
volumes  of  the  old  lady,  very  plainly  bound,  as  was  meet,  in 
calf  of  a  drab  color — Job  Scott's  Works,  Woolman's  Journal, 
and  William  Penn's  "  No  Cross,  No  Crown."  A  swinging 
book-shelf,  suspended  on  the  wall,  contained  a  different  collec- 
tion, which  evidently  belonged  to  the  daughter.  Several 
volumes  of  Carlyle,  Margaret  Fuller,  Shelley,  Bettina  von 
Arnim,  De  Stael's  "  Corinne,"  the  "  Record  of  Woman," 
Milton,  George  Sands'  "Consuelo,"  Mrs.  Child's  "Letters 
from  New  York,"  Hugh  Miller,  and  bound  numbers  of  the 
"  Liberty  Bell,"  were  among  them.  Had  a  certain  drawer 
been  opened,  one  would  have  found  files  of  The  Slavery  An- 
nihilato'',  Mrs.  Swisshelm's  Saturday  Visitor,  and  the  weekly 
edition  of  the  New-Yorh  Tribune.  A  rude  vase  of  birch 
bark,  on  a  bracket,  was  filled  with  a  mass  of  flowering  grasses, 
exquisitely  arranged  with  regard  to  their  forms  and  colors, 
from  pale  green  and  golden-gray  to  the  loveliest  browns  and 
purples.  This  object  was  a  work  of  art,  in  its  way,  and  shod 
a  gleam  of  beauty  over  the  plainness  of  the  apartment. 

Friend  Gulielma  Thurston,  leaning  back  in  the  rocking  chair 
had  suffered  her  hands,  with  the  knitting  they  held,  to  sink 
into  her  lap,  and  looked  out  upon  the  hazy  valley.  Her  thiii 
face,  framed  in  the  close  Quaker  cap,  which  barely  allowed  hei 
gray  hair  to  appear  at  the  temples,  wore  a  sweet,  placid  ex- 
pression, though  the  sunken  eyes  and  set  lips  told  of  physical 
suffering.    The  spotless  book-muslin  handkerchief^  many-folded, 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIV2.  ftf 

covered  her  neck  and  breast,  and  a  worsted  ajron  was  tied 
over  her  drab  gown,  rather  from  habit  than  use.  As  she  bask 
ed  in  the  balmy  warmth  of  the  day,  her  wasted  fingers  nncon 
Bciously  clasped  themselves  in  a  manner  that  expressed  patience 
Wid  trust.  These  were  the  prominent  qualities  of  her  nature — 
the  secret  of  her  cheerfulness  and  the  source  of  her  courage. 

Late  married,  she  had  lost  her  first  child,  and  shortly  after 
the  birth  of  her  daughter  Hannah,  her  husband  also.  The  lat- 
ter was  a  stern,  silent  man,  rigid  in  creed  and  in  discij  dine,  but 
with  a  concealed  capacity  for  passion  which  she  had  not  under- 
stood while  she  possessed  him.  Her  mind  fii'st  matured  in 
the  sorrow  of  his  loss,  and  she  became,  from  that  natural 
neea  which  is  content  with  no  narrower  comfort,  a  speaker  in 
the  meetings  of  her  sect.  The  property  she  inherited  at  her 
husband's  death  was  very  small,  and  she  was  obliged  to  labo 
beyond  her  strength,  until  the  bequest  of  an  unmarried  brother 
relieved  her  from  pressing  want.  Hannah,  to  whom  she  had 
managed  to  give  a  tolerably  thorough  education,  obtained  a 
situation  as  teacher,  for  which  she  proved  so  competent  that 
a  liberal  offer  from  the  Trustees  of  the  Young  Ladies'  Semi- 
navy  at  Ptolemy  induced  both  mother  and  daughter  to  remove 
thither.  Her  earnings,  added  to  the  carefully  husbanded  pro- 
perty, finally  became  sufficient  to  insure  them  a  modest  sup 
port,  so  that,  when  her  mother's  failing  health  obliged  Hannah 
to  give  up  her  j^lace,  there  was  no  serious  anxiety  for  the 
future  to  interfere  with  her  filial  duty. 

The  daughter  was  seated  at  the  eastern  window,  beside  a 
small  table,  which  was  covered  with  gorgeously  tinted  autumn 
leaves.  She  was  occupied  in  arranging  them  in  wreathe  and 
groups,  on  sheets  of  card-board,  which  were  designed  to  form 
an  album,  and  to  wear,  as  binding,  the  embroidery  of  fern- 
leaves,  upon  which  we  first  found  her  engaged.  Such  an 
album,  contributed  by  her  to  the  Anti-Slavery  Fair,  the  previ 
ous  year,  had  enriched  the  treasury  of  the  Society  by  the  som 
of  ten  dollars,  and  the  managers  had  begged  a  second  donation 
of  the  same  kind. 
3* 


68  HANNAH   THUESTON  : 

Catching  a  glimpse  of  Miss  Dilworth  through  the  «dndow 
slie  rose  to  receive  her.  In  stature,  she  was  somewhat  abov« 
the  average  height  of  women,  though  not  noticeably  tall,  and 
a  little  too  slender  for  beauty.  Her  hands  were  thin,  but 
finely  formed,  and  she  carried  them  as  if  they  were  a  conscious 
portion  of  herself,  not  an  awkward  attachment.  Her  face 
would  have  been  a  perfect  oval,  except  that  the  forehead,  in 
3tead  of  being  low  and  softly  rounded,  was  rather  squarely 
developed  in  the  reflective  region,  and  the  cheeks,  though  not 
thin,  lacked  the  proper  fulness  of  outline.  Her  hair  was  of  a  rich, 
dark-brown,  black  in  shadow,  and  the  delicate  arches  of  the 
eye-brows  were  drawn  with  a  clear,  even  pencil,  above  the 
earnest  gray  eyes,  dark  and  deep  under  the  shadow  of  their 
long  lashes.  The  nose  was  faultless,  and  the  lips,  although  no 
longer  wearing  their  maidenly  ripeness  and  bloom,  were  so 
pure  in  outline,  so  sweetly  firm  in  their  closing  junction,  so 
lovely  in  their  varying  play  of  expression,  that  the  life  of  her 
face  seemed  to  dwell  in  them  alone.  Her  smile  had  a  rare 
benignity  and  beauty.  The  paleness  of  her  face,  being,  to 
some  extent,  a  feature  of  her  physical  temperament,  did  not 
convey  tlie  impression  of  impaired  health :  a  ruddy  tint  would 
not  have  harmonized  with  the  spiritual  and  sensitive  character 
of  her  countenance.  No  one  would  have  dreamed  of  calling 
Hannah  Thurston  a  beauty.  In  society  nine  men  would  have 
passed  her  without  a  thought ;  but  the  tenth  would  have  stood 
still,  and  said :  "  Here  is  a  woman  '  to  sit  at  a  king's  right 
hand,  in  thunder-storms,' "  and  would  have  carried  her  face  in 
his  memory  forever. 

The  severest  test  of  a  woman  is  to  play  an  exceptional  part 
in  the  world.  Her  respect,  her  dignity,  her  virtue  itself,  be 
come  doubtful,  if  not  mythical,  in  the  eyes  of  men.  In  the 
•mall  circle  of  Ptolemy,  Hannah  Thurston  had  subjected  her- 
self to  this  test,  and  it  was  no  slight  triumph  for  her,  had  she 
known  it,  that,  while  her  views  were  received  with  either  hor- 
ror or  contempt,  while  the  names  of  her  fellow  priestesses  oi 
prophetesses  were  bandied  about  in   utter  disrespect,  she  wai 


A   STOBY    OF   AALBBICAK   LIFB.  M 

never  personally  ridiculed.  No  tongue  dared  to  whisper  aa 
insinuation  against  either  her  sincerity  or  her  purity.  This, 
however,  was  partly  owing  to  the  circumstanpes  of  her  life  in 
the  place.  She  had  first  achieved  popularity  as  a  teacher,  and 
honor  as  a  daughter.  Among  other  things,  it  was  generally  re- 
ported and  believed  that  she  had  declined  an  offer  of  marriage^ 
advantageous  in  a  worldly  point  of  view,  and  the  act  was  set 
down  to  her  credit  as  wholly  one  of  duty  towards  her  mother. 

In  her  plain  brown  dress,  with  linen  collar  and  cuffs,  the 
only  ornament  being  a  knot  of  blue  ribbon  at  the  throat,  she 
also,  appeared  to  be  a  Quakeress ;  yet,  she  had  long  since  per- 
ceived that  the  external  forms  of  the  sect  had  become  obsolete, 
and  no  longer  considered  herself  bound  by  them.  Some  con- 
cession  in  dress,  however,  was  still  due  for  her  mother's  sake, 
beyond  whose  rapidly  shortening  span  of  life  she  could  see  no 
aim  in  her  own,  unless  it  were  devoted  to  righting  the  wrongi 
of  her  sex.  She  had  had  her  girlish  dreams ;  but  the  next 
birthday  was  her  thirtieth,  and  she  had  already  crossed,  in  re- 
solve, that  deep  gulf  in  a  woman's  life. 

Miss  Caroline  Dilworth,  in  her  blue  dress,  came  as  if  dipped 
in  the  Indian  Summer,  with  a  beryl  gleam  in  her  eyes,  as  she 
darted  into  the  sitting-room.  She  caught  Hannah  Thurston 
around  the  waist,  and  kissed  her  twice :  she  was  never  known 
to  greet  her  female  friends  with  less.  Then,  leaning  gently 
over  the  rocking-chair,  she  took  the  old  woman's  hand. 

"  Take  off  thy  bonnet,  child,"  said  the  latter,  "  and  push 
thy  hair  back,  so  that  I  can  see  thy  face.  I'm  glad  thee's 
oome." 

"  Oh,  Friend  Thurston,  I  was  so  afraid  I  couldn't  get  away 
from  Parkman's.  It's  a  lonely  place,  you  know,  over  the  hill, 
and  she's  hard  of  hearing.  Ah  !  I'm  out  of  breath,  yet" — and 
therewith  heaving  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  little  creature  threw  off 
her  shawl  and  untied  the  strings  of  her  bonnet. 

Their  life  had  so  much  in  it  that  was  grave  and  earnest— 
their  conversation  naturally  turning  to  the  past  rather  than 
\he  future — that  the  Thurstons  always  felt  themselves  cheered 


do  HANKAH   THDESTON: 

by  Miss  Dilworth's  visits.  She  dropped  her  affrstaiions  ia 
their  presence,  and  became,  for  the  time,  a  light-heai'ted,  ami- 
able, silly  woman.  She  never  arrived  without  a  fresh  budget 
of  gossip,  generally  of  slight  importance,  but  na^de  piquant  by 
her  rattling  way  of  telling  it. 

"  How  thee  does  run  on !"  Friend  Thurston  would  some 
times  say,  whereupon  the  sempstress  would  only  toas  her  curls 
and  run  on  all  the  more  inveterately. 

"  Oh,  I  must  tell  you  all  about  Lakeside  and  the  new  owner !" 
she  exclaimed,  as  she  settled  herself  into  a  chair. 

Hannah  Thurston  could  probably  have  told  her  more  about 
Mr.  Woodbury  than  she  already  knew;  but  it  would  have 
been  unkind  to  cut  short  the  eager  narrative,  and  oo  Bute's  re- 
port,  with  many  additions  and  variations,  was  served  out  to 
them  in  cba])ters,  during  the  afternoon. 


A    8TOET    OF    AMEBIC 4J4    UFB. 


CHAPTER  V. 

nr   WHICH   MB.  WOODBUBT  HEASS  A   -WOMAJI  SPILiK. 

Iji  his  intercourse  with  the  society  of  his  new  home,  Wood 
bury  found  fewer  distasteful  circumstances  to  be  overlooked, 
than  he  had  at  first  feared.  The  novelty  of  the  experience 
had  its  charm,  and,  as  his  mind  recovered  something  of  that 
active  irterest  in  men  which  he  had  almost  unlearned,  he  was 
surprised  to  find  how  vital  and  absorbing  his  relations  with 
them  became.  From  the  very  earnestness  of  his  views,  how- 
ever, he  was  reticent  in  the  expression  of  them,  and  could  with 
difficulty  accustom  himself  to  the  discussion,  in  mixed  society,  oi 
subjects  which  are  usually  only  broached  in  the  confidential  inti- 
macy of  friends.  Not  merely  "  Fate,  free-will,  foreknowledge 
absolute,"  but  the  privacy  of  individual  faiths,  doubts,  and  as- 
pirations, became  themes  of  discussion ;  even  the  shrinking 
sanctity  of  love  was  invaded,  and  the  ability  to  converse 
fluently  was  taken  by  the  community  of  Ptolemy  as  a  sign  of 
capacity  to  feel  deeply  on  these  subjects. 

At  the  dinners  and  evening  parties  of  the  English,  an  intel- 
lectual as  well  as  a  social  propiiety  is  strictly  observed,  and  the 
man  who  makes  a  habit  of  producing  for  general  inspection, 
bis  religious  convictions  or  his  moral  experiences,  is  speedily 
voted  a  bore.  Maxwell  Woodbury,  whose  long  residence  in 
Calcutta  had  fixed  his  habits,  in  this  respect,  was  at  first  more 
amused  than  shocked,  at  the  abandon  with  which  spiritual 
intimacies  were  exchanged,  in  the  society  of  Ptolemy.  He  soon 
learned,  however,  that  much  of  this  talk  was  merely  a  superfi- 
cial seutimentalism,  and  that  the  true  sanctities  of  the  speakers' 


•9  HAITNAH  THUESTON; 

hearts  were  violated  more  in  appearance  than  in  fact.  Never- 
tbeless,  he  felt  no  inclination  to  take  part  in  conversation  of 
this  character,  and  fell  into  the  habit  of  assuming  a  mystical^ 
paradoxical  tone,  whenever  he  was  forcibly  drawn  into  th« 
discussion.  Sometimes,  indeed,  he  was  tempted  to  take  the 
oi)])osite  side  of  the  views  advocated,  simply  in  order  to  extort 
m')re  reckless  and  vehement  utterances  from  their  defenders. 
It  i&  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  his  lack  of  earnestness, — as 
t  seemed  to  the  others — was  attributed  by  many  to  a  stolid 
.ndifference  to  humanity.  Seth  "Wattles  even  went  so  far  as 
to  say :  "  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  had  made  his  money  in 
the  accursed  opium  traffic." 

The  two  topics  which,  for  him,  possessed  an  intrinsically  re- 
pellant  character,  happened  to  be  those  which  were  at  that 
time  most  actively  discussed:  Spiritualism  and  Women's 
Rights.  He  had  seen  the  slight-of-hand  of  the  Indian  jugglers, 
far  more  wonderful  than  any  feats  supernaturally  performed 
in  the  presence  of  mediums,  and  the  professed  communications 
from  the  world  of  spirits  struck  him  as  being  more  inane 
twaddle  than  that  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  living  be- 
lievers. He  had  not  lived  thirty-six  years  without  as  much 
knowledge  of  woman  as  a  single  man  may  profitably  acquire; 
and  the  better  he  knew  the  sex,  the  more  tender  and  profound 
became  his  regard.  To  him,  in  his  strength,  however,  the  re- 
lation of  protector  was  indispensable ;  the  rudest  blows  of  life 
must  first  fall  upon  his  shield.  The  idea  of  an  independent 
strength,  existing  side  by  side  with  his,  yet  without  requiring 
its  support,  was  unnatural  and  repulsive.  Aunt  Dennison,  in 
her  noble  self-abnegation  as  wife  and  mother,  was  more  queenly 
In  his  eyes,  than  Mary  Wollstonecraft  or  Madame  de  Sla6L 
It  was  difficult  for  him  to  believe  how  any  truly  refined  and 
feminine  woman  could  claim  for  her  sex  a  share  in  the  special 
occupations  of  man. 

There  is  always  a  perverse  fate  which  attracts  one  into  the 
very  situations  he  wishes  to  avoid.  On  the  evening  when  the 
Bewing-Union  met  at  Merryfield's,  Woodbury  happened  to  b« 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFB.  #S 

drawii  into  a  group  which  contained  Mrs.  "Waldo,  Hannah 
Thurston,  and  the  host.  The  latter  was  speaking  of  a  plan 
for  a  Female  Medical  College. 

"  It  is  the  first  step,"  said  he,  "  and  its  success  will  over- 
tlirow  the  dynasty  of  ideas,  under  which  woman  has  beei 
crushed,  as  it  were."  The  phrase :  *'  dynasty  of  ideas,"  hf 
had  borrowed  from  a  recent  lecturer. 

*'  Well",  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  musingly,  "if  it  went  no  further 
I  should  not  have  much  to  say  against  it,  for  we  know  that 
women  are  the  best  nurses,  and  they  may  make  tolerable  doc 
tors.  But  I  should  prefer  that  somebody  else  than  myself 
made  the  beginning." 

"  You  are  right,"  remarked  Woodbury ;  "it  is  not  pleasant 
to  think  of  a  woman  standing  at  a  dissecting-table,  with  a 
scalpel  in  her  hand,  and  a  quarter  of  a  subject  before  her." 

Hannah  Thurston  shuddered  inwardly,  but  at  once  took  up 
the  gauntlet.  "  Why  not  ?"  she  asked.  "  Are  not  women 
capable  of  this,  and  more  than  this,  for  the  sake  of  knowledge 
that  wUl  enable  them  to  do  good?  Or  is  it  because  their 
minds  are  too  weak  to  grapple  with  the  mysteries  of  science  ?" 

Woodbury,  to  avoid  a  discussion  to  which  he  was  so 
strongly  averse,  assumed  a  gay,  bantering  tone.  "In  the 
presence  of  ladies,"  he  said,  smiling,  and  partly  directing  hia 
words  to  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  there  is  only  one  way  of  answering 
the  latter  question." 

Hannah  Thurston  was  of  too  earnest  a  nature  to  endure 
trifling — for  such  seemed  his  reply.  Her  gray  eyes  kindled 
with  an  emotion  a  very  little  milder  than  contempt.  "So!" 
ghe  exclaimed,  "  we  must  still  endure  the  degradation  oi 
hollow  compliment.  We  are  still  children,  and  our  noise  cau 
be  quieted  with  sugar-plums!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Thurston !"  Woodbury  gravelj 
answered.  "  ^ly  apparent  disrespect  was  but  a  shift  to  avoid 
discussing  a  subject  which  1  have  never  serix)usly  considered, 
and  which,  I  will  only  say,  seems  to  me  a  matter  of  instinct 
rather  than  of   argument.      Besides,"  he  added,  "I  believ 


64  HAirsTAa  TfitJRSTOw: 

Mrs.  Waldo,   as  our  dictatress,  prohibits  debate  on    thet4 
occasions." 

The  lady  referred  to  immediately  came  to  his  assistance. 
"  I  do  prohibit  it ;"  said  she,  with  a  magisterial  wave  of  the 
hand;  "and  you  cannot  object  to  my  authority,  Hannah, 
rince  you  have  a  chance  to  defend  our  sex,  and  cover  with 
confusion  all  such  incorrigible  bachelors  as  Mr.  Woodbury,  on 
Thursday  next.  I'm  sure  he's  a  misanthrope,  or — mis — what 
ever  you  call  it." 

"A  misogynist?"  Woodbury  gayly  suggested.  "No,  no, 
Mrs.  Waldo.  Do  not  you,  as  a  clergyman's  wife,  know  that 
there  may  be  a  devotional  feeling  so  profound  as  to  find  the 
pale  of  any  one  sect  too  narrow  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  looked  earnestly  at  the  speaker.  What 
did  he  mean  ? — was  that  also  jest  ?  she  asked  herself.  She 
was  unaccustomed  to  such  mental  self-possession.  Most  of 
tlie  men  she  knew  would  have  answered  her  with  spirit,  con- 
sidering that  to  decline  a  challenge  thrown  down  by  a  woman 
was  equivalent  to  acknowledging  the  intellectual  equality  of 
the  sexes — this  being  the  assertion  which  they  most  strenu- 
ously resisted.  Mr.  Woodbury,  however,  had  withdrawn  as 
a  matter  of  taste  and  courtesy.  She  had  given  him  the 
opportunity  of  doing  so,  a  little  to  her  own  discomfiture,  and 
was  conscious  that  her  self-esteem  was  wounded  by  the  result. 
She  could  not  quite  forgive  him  for  this,  though  his  manner, 
she  felt,  compelled  respect.  At  the  risk  of  having  her  silence 
misinterpreted,  she  made  no  reply. 

Woodbury,  who  had  not  understood  Mrs.  Waldo's  allusion, 
took  an  opportunity,  later  in  the  evening,  to  ask  for  an  ex 
planation. 

"  I  thought  you  had  heard,"  said  she.  "  There  is  to  be  a 
meeting  in  favor  of  Women's  Rights,  on  Thursday  afternoon, 
at  the  Hall,  in  Ptolemy.  Mr.  Bemis,  the  great  advocate  of 
the  reform,  is  to  be  there,  and  I  believe  they  expect  Bestiie 
Stryker." 

"  Who  IS  Bess'.e  Stryker  ?" 


A   STOBY    OF   A&LBBICAIf   LIFB.  #5 

•*  Mr.  Woodbury !  It's  well  you  did  not  ask  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton  that  question.  You've  been  out  of  the  country — I  had 
forgotten  that ;  but  I  should  think  you  must  have  heard  of 
her  in  Calcutta.  She  has  travelled  all  over  the  country, 
lecturing  on  the  subject,  and  has  made  such  a  name  as  a 
speaker  that  everybody  goes  to  hear  her.  She  is  quite  pretty, 
and  wears  the  new  Bloomer  dress." 

*  Really,  you  excite  my  curiosity,  I  must  attend  this 
meeting,  if  only  to  show  Miss  Thurston  that  I  am  above  th* 
vulgar  prejudice  which  I  presume  she  imputes  to  me." 

"  Oh,  no,  Mr.  Woodbury.  Hannah  Thurston  is  not  unjust, 
whatever  faults  she  may  have.  But  you  should  know  that  she 
has  a  dislike — morbid,  it  seems  to  me — of  the  compliments 
which  you  men  generally  pay  to  ns  women.  For  my  part,  I 
see  no  harm  in  them." 

"  Both  of  you,  at  least,  are  candid,"  replied  Woodbury, 
laughing,  "and  that  trait,  with  me,  covers  a  multitude  of 
weaknesses." 

Woodbury  went  to  the  meeting  on  the  following  Thursday, 
muck  as  he  would  have  attended  a  Brahminical  festival  in 
honor  of  the  Goddess  Unna-Purna.  He  felt  no  particular 
interest  in  the  subject  to  be  treated,  except  a  curiosity  to  know 
how  it  could  be  rendei-ed  plausible  to  a  serai-intelligent 
auditory.  Of  Ptolemy,  privately  and  socially,  he  had  seen 
something,  but  he  had  not  yet  mingled  with  Ptolemy  in 
public. 

"  The  Hall,''  as  it  was  called  (being  the  only  one  in  the 
place),  was  a  brick  building,  situated  on  the  principal  street. 
Its  true  name  was  Tumblety  Hall,  from  the  builder  and  owner, 
Mr.  Jabez  Tumblety,  who  had  generously  bestowed  his  namt 
upon  it  in  consideration  of  receiving  ten  per  cent,  on  his  in- 
vestment, from  the  lease  of  it  to  phrenologists,  the  dancing 
school,  Ethiopian  Minstrels,  exhibitors  of  laughing  gas,  lec- 
turers on  anatomy  (the  last  lecture  exclusively  for  gentlemen), 
jugglers,  temperance  meetings,  caucuses  of  the  Hunkers  and 
Barnburners,  and,  on   Simdays,  to  the   Bethesdeans  in  ihf 


66  HANNAH   THURSTON : 

morning  and  the  Spiritualists  in  the  evening.  Its  intemij 
aspect  was  rather  shabby.  The  roughly-plastered  walls  offered 
too  great  a  temptation  for  the  pencils  and  charcoal  of  un- 
fledged artists,  when  bored  by  a  windy  orator.  Various 
grotesque  heads,  accompanied  by  names  and  dates,  made  up 
for  the  absence  of  frescoes,  but  the  talent  thus  displayed  did 
not  seem  to  be  appreciated,  for  under  some  of  them  waa 
written,  in  a  later  hand :  "  he  is  a  fool."  The  benches  were 
of  unpainted  pine,  with  long  back-rails,  which,  where  they 
had  not  been  split  off  by  the  weight  of  the  leaning  crowd, 
were  jagged  with  whittled  notches.  Along  the  further  end 
of  the  hall  ran  a  platform,  raised  three  feet  above  the  floor, 
and  containing  a  table,  three  arm-chairs,  and  two  settees.  The 
floor  might  have  been  swept,  but  had  not  recently  been 
washed,  to  judge  from  the  stains  of  tobacco-juice  by  which  if 
was  nrottled. 

When  Woodbury  entered,  the  seats  were  nearly  all  ocou 
pied,  an  audience  of  five  hundred  persons  being  in  attendance. 
Most  of  them  were  evidently  from  the  country;  some,  indeed, 
who  were  favorably  inclined  to  the  cause,  had  come  from  Mul- 
ligansville  and  Atauga  City.  All  the  loafers  of  Ptolemy  were 
there,  of  course,  and  occupied  good  seats.  The  few  members 
of  the  respectable,  conservative,  moneyed  class,  whose  curiosity 
drew  them  in,  lingered  near  the  door,  on  the  edges  of  the 
crowd,  in  order  that  they  might  leave  whenever  so  disposed, 
without  attracting  attention  to  their  presence. 

Mr,  Merryfield  occupied  the  middle  chair  on  the  platform, 
with  a  heavy-faced,  bald-templed,  belligerent  looking  gentleman 
on  his  right,  and  a  middle-aged  lady  in  black  silk,  on  his  left. 
The  settees  were  also  occupied  by  persons  of  both  sexes  who 
were  interested  in  the  cause.  Among  them  was  Uannah 
Thurston. 

A  whispered  consultation  was  carried  on  for  some  time 
among  the  party  on  the  platform,  the  belligerent  gentleman 
evidently  having  the  most  to  say.  Finally  Mr.  Merr^-field 
arose,  thumped  upon  the  table,  and  after  waiting  a  minat« 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFS.  ttt 

for  the  "  shs  /"  to  subside,  announced :  "  The  meeting  will  now 
come  to  order !" 

The  meeting  being  already  in  order,  no  eflGect  was  produced 
by  this  announcement. 

"  As  we  have  assembled  together,  as  it  were,"  he  continued, 
"  principally  to  listen  to  the  noble  advocates  of  the  gloi-iouB 
cause  who  are  to  appear  before  us,  my  friends  suggest  that — 
that  there  should  be  no — that  we  should  dispense,  as  it  were, 
with  a  regular  organization,  and  proceed  to  listen  to  their 
voices.  The  only — I  would  suggest,  if  the  meeting  is  wiUing, 
that  we  should  appoint — that  is,  that  a  committee  should  be 
named,  as  it  were,  to  draw  up  resolutions  expressing  their — 
our  sense  on  the  subject  of  Women's  Rights.  Perhaps,"  he 
added,  turning  around,  "  some  one  will  make  the  motion." 

"  I  move  that  a  committee  of  six  be  appointed !"  "  I  second 
the  motion  !"  were  heard,  almost  simultaneously. 

"  Those  in  favor  of  that  motion  wDl  signify  their  assent  by 
saying  '  Aye !' "  said  Mr.  Merryfield. 

"  Aye !"  rang  through  the  house  with  startling  unanimity, 
all  the  boys  expi-essing  their  enthusiastic  assent. 

"  Contrary—'  No  !'  " 

Dead  silence. 

"The  Ayes  have  it.  Who  shall  the  Committee  be  com- 
posed of." 

"  Both  sexes  must  be  represented.  Three  men  and  three 
women,"  said  the  belligerent  gentleman,  suddenly,  half  rising 
from  his  seat. 

In  a  short  time  the  members  of  the  Committee  were  appoint- 
ed, and,  tliere  being  no  further  business  on  hand,  Mr.  Merry- 
field  said :  "  I  have  now  the  pleasure,  as  it  were,  of  introducing 
to  the  audience  the  noble  advocate  of  Women's  Rights,  Isaiah 
Bemis.  who — whose  name  is — is  well  known  to  you  all  as  the 
champion  of  his — I  mean,  her — persecuted  sex."  Mr.  Merry- 
field  was  so  disconcerted  by  the  half-suppressed  laughter  which 
followed  this  blunder,  that  the  termination  of  his  eulogium  bfr 
«ame  still  more  confuised      "  The  name  of  Isaiah  Bemis,"  1m 


M  HATTNAH   THFECTO^  . 

said,  "Joes  not  need  my  condera — commendation.     When  , 
Woman  shall  fill  her  true  spere,  it  will  shine — will  be  written 
among  the  martyrs  of  Reform,  as  it  were,  for  Truth,  crushed 
to  Earth,  rises  up  in  spite  of — of — though  the  heavens  fall  I" 

Mr.  Bemis,  who  was  no  other  than  the  gentleman  of  bel- 
ligerent aspect,  already  mentioned,  at  once  arose,  bowing 
gravely  in  answer  to  a  slight,  hesitating,  uncertain  sound  of 
applause.  The  Ptolemy  public  had  not  listened  for  years  to 
speakers  of  all  kinds,  and  on  all  subjects,  without  acquiring^ 
some  degree  of  critical  perception.  They  both  enjoyed  and 
prided  themselves  on  their  acumen,  and  a  new  man,  whatever 
his  doctrines  might  be,  was  sure  that  he  would  find  a  full 
house  to  receive  him.  If  he  possessed  either  eloquence  or 
humor,  in  any  appreciable  degree,  he  had  no  reason  to  com- 
plain of  his  reception.  The  class  of  hearers  to  which  we  refer 
did  not  consider  themselves  committed  to  the  speaker's  views 
by  their  manifestations  of  applause.  Off  the  platform,  there 
were  not  twenty  advocates  of  Women's  Rights  in  the  whole 
audience,  yet  all  were  ready  to  hear  Mik  Bemis,  and  to  approve 
a  good  thing,  if  he  should  happen  to  say  it. 

A  few  minutes,  however,  satisfied  them  that  he  was  not  the 
kind  of  speaker  they  coveted.  He  took  for  his  text  that  maxim 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  that  "  all  governments  de- 
rive their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed,"  first 
proved  the  absolute  justice  of  the  theory,  and  then  exhibited 
the  flagrant  violation  of  it  in  the  case  of  woman.  She  is 
equally  obliged,  with  man,  to  submit  to  the  laws,  he  said,  but 
has  no  voice  in  making  them ;  even  those  laws  which  control 
her  property,  her  earnings,  her  children,  her  person  itself,  are 
enacted  without  consultation  with  her.  She  not  only  loses  hei 
name,  but  her  individual  privileges  are  curtailed,  as  if  she  be- 
longed to  an  inferior  order  of  beings.  The  character  of  big 
harangue  was  aggressive  throughout.  He  referred  as  little 
as  possible,  to  any  inherent  difference  in  the  destinies  of  sex ; 
men  and  women  were  simply  human  beings,  and  in  Society,  and 
Law,  aud  Government,  there  should  be  no  distinction  madt 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  IIFM.  6i 

between  thein.  There  was  a  certain  specious  display  of  logic 
in  his  address ;  the  faulty  links  were  glozed  over,  so  that  his 
chain  of  argument  appeared  sound  and  strong,  fi'om  end  to 
end.  Granting  his  premises,  indeed,  which  he  assumed  with 
an  air,  as  if  they  were  beyond  dispute — all  the  rest  readily  fol- 
lowed. Those  who  believed  with  him,  not  perceiving  the  de- 
fect in  his  basis,  were  charmed  with  the  force  and  clearness  of 
bd6  views. 

A  crowd  feels,  not  reasons,  and  the  auditors,  after  an  hour 
of  this  talk,  began  to  manifest  signs  of  weariness.  Even 
Woodbury,  to  whom  the  whole  scene  was  a  study — or,  rather, 
a  show — only  kept  his  place  from  a  desire  to  hear  the  famous 
Bessie  Stryker. 

Mr.  Bemis  at  last  sat  down,  and  some  further  -whispering 
ensued.  There  was  a  slight  hitch  in  the  proceedings,  it  was 
evident.  In  a  few  minutes,  Mr.  Merryfield  again  arose.  "  My 
friends,"  said  he ;  "I  regret  to  be  able  to  state  that  we  are 
disappointed,  as  it  were,  in  listening — in  the  arrival  of  Bessie 
Stryker.  We  expected  her  in  the  afternoon  stage  coming  from 
Cephaloni"*,  and  was  to  have  lectured  there  last  night,  but  ha? 
arrived  without  her.  But  I  hope,  nevertheless,  that  you  will — 
that  it  will  be  agreeable  to  you,  as  it  were,  to  hear  a  few 
words  from  our  friend,  Hannah  Thurston,  who  requires — whom 
you  know  already." 

Hearty  signs  of  approbation  greeted  this  announcement 
Thus  appealed  to,  Hannah  Thurston,  who  at  first  made  a  move- 
ment of  hesitation,  rose,  quietly  removed  her  bonnet,  and 
walked  forward  to  the  table.  Her  face  seemed  a  little  paler 
than  usual,  but  her  step  was  firm,  and  the  hand  Avhich  she 
placed  upon  the  table  did  not  tremble.  After  a  pause,  as  if 
to  collect  and  isolate  her  mind  from  external  impressions,  she 
commenced  speaking,  in  a  voice  so  low  that  only  its  silver 
purity  of  tone  enabled  her  to  be  heard.  Yet  the  slight  tremu- 
lousness  it  betrayed  indicated  no  faltering  of  courage ;  it  was 
limply  a  vibration  of  nerves  rather  tensely  strung. 

•'J  will  not  repeat,"  she  began,  "the  arguments  by  which 


to  HAITNAH   THUBSTOK: 

the  eloquent  Speaker  has  illustrated  the  wrongs  endured  bj 
woman,  under  all  governments  and  all  systems  of  law,  whethei 
despotic  or  republican.  These  are  considerations  which  lie 
further  from  us;  we  are  most  concerned  for  those  injuriet 
w  hich  require  an  immediate  remedy.  When  we  have  removed 
the  social  prejudices  which  keep  our  sex  in  a  false  position- 
when  we  have  destroyed  the  faith  of  the  people  in  the  tyran- 
nical traditions  by  which  we  are  ruled — the  chains  of  the  law 
will  break  of  themselves.  As  a  beginning  to  that  end,  woman 
must  claim  an  equal  right  to  education,  to  employment,  and  re- 
ward. These  are  the  first  steps  in  our  reform,  to  reach  the 
sources  of  those  evils  which  cause  our  greatest  suffering.  We 
can  endure  a  little  longer,  to  be  deprived  of  the  permission  to 
vote  and  to  rule,  because  the  denial  is  chiefly  an  assault  upon 
our  intelligence ;  but  we  need  now — at  once — and,  my  friends, 
I  am  pleading  for  millions  who  cannot  speak  for  themselves — 
we  need  an  equal  privilege  withman,  to  work  and  to  be  justly 
paid.  The  distinction  which  is  made,  to  our  prejudice,  renders 
us  weak  and  helpless,  compared  with  our  brethren,  to  whom 
all  fields  are  open,  and  who  may  claim  the  compensation  which 
is  justified  by  their  labor,  without  incurring  ridicule  or  con- 
tempt. They  are  even  allowed  to  usurp  branches  which,  if 
tlie  popular  ideas  of  woman's  weakness,  and  man's  chivalry 
towards  her  be  true,  should  be  left  for  us.  Even  admitting 
that  our  sphere  is  limited — that  there  are  only  a  few  things 
which  we  may  properly  do — is  it  generous,  is  it  even  just,  that 
man,  who  has  the  whole  range  of  life  to  choose  from,  should 
3rowd  us  out  from  these  few  chances  of  earning  our  bread  i 
Or  to  force  us  to  perform  the  same  labor  fot  a  smaller  rem* 
ablation,  because  we  are  women  ?  Could  we  not  measure  a 
yard  of  calico  as  rapidly,  or  choose  a  shade  of  zephyr  as  cor- 
rectly as  the  elegant  young  men  who  stand  behind  the  coan* 
ter?  With  our  more  sensitive  physical  organization,  might 
not  all  tasks  requiring  quickness,  nicety  of  touch,  and  careful 
arrangement,  be  safely  confided  to  our  hands  ?" 

At  this  point  the  audience,  which  had  quite  lost  its  air  at 


A   STOBT   OP   AMSXUCAN  LIFX.  71 

weariness,  broke  into  subdued  but  cordial  applause.  Hannah 
TJiurston's  voice,  as  she  acquired  possession  of  her  subject,  in- 
creased in  strength,  but  at  no  time  appeared  to  rise  above  a 
convei  sational  tone.  Her  manner  also,  was  simply  conversa- 
tional. The  left  hand  slightly  touched  the  table,  as  if  she  onlj 
^  ished  to  feel  a  support  at  hand,  not  use  it ;  while  she  now 
and  then,  involuntarily,  made  a  simple  movement  with  the 
right.  The  impression  she  produced  was  that  of  a  woman 
junipelled  by  some  powerful  necessity  or  duty  to  appear 
before  a  pubUc  assembly,  not  of  one  who  coveted  and  enjoyed 
the  position.  Woodbury  was  profoundly  interested  in  the 
speaker,  and  in  her  words.     Both  were  equally  new  to  him. 

"  What  we  now  ask,  therefore,  my  friends,"  she  continued, 
"is  that  the  simple  justice  be  meted  out  to  us,  which  we  feel 
that  man — without  adopting  any  of  our  views  concerning  the 
true  position  of  woman — is  bound  to  give.  We  ask  that  his 
boasted  chivalry  be  put  into  practice,  not  merely  in  escorting 
us  to  concerts,  or  giving  us  his  seat  in  a  railroad-car,  or  serv- 
ing us  first  at  the  table — or  in  all  other  ways  by  which  the 
reputation  of  chivalry  and  gallantry  towards  our  sex  is  earned 
at  little  cost ;  but  in  leaving  open  to  us  those  places  which  he 
confesses  we  are  fitted  to  fill — in  paying  us,  as  teachers,  clerks, 
tailors,  or  operatives,  the  same  wages  for  the  same  woik  which 
men  do!" 

Tnis  was  so  simply  and  fairly  stated,  that  the  audience  again 
heartily  approved.  There  was  nothing,  in  fact,  of  the  peculiar 
doctrines  of  Women's  Rights  in  what  she  said — nothing  to 
which  they  could  not  have  individually  assented,  without  com. 
promising  their  position  in  regard  to  the  main  point.  Mr. 
Bemis,  however,  drew  down  his  heavy  brows,  and  whispered 
to  the  chairman  :  "  Very  good,  so  far  as  it  goes,  but  timidly 
■tated.     We  must  strike  the  evil  at  its  root." 

After  dwelling  for  some  time  on  this  aspect  of  the  question, 
and  illustrating  it  by  a  number  of  examples,  Hannah  Thurston 
went  a  step  further. 

"But  we  deny,"  she  said,  "that  Man  has  any  nattiral  righl 


Tl  HANNAH   THUBSTON: 

to  prescribe  the  bounds  within  which  Woman  may  labor  ant? 
live.  God  alone  has  that  right,  and  His  laws  govern  both 
sexes  with  the  same  authority.  Man  has  indeed  assumed  it, 
becacuse  he  disbelieves  in  the  intellectual  equality  of  women* 
He  has  trea*,ed  her  as  an  older  child,  to  whom  a  certain  amount 
of  freedom  might  be  allowed,  but  whom  it  was  not  safe  to 
release  entirely  from  his  guardianship.  He  has  educated  her 
in  this  belief,  through  all  the  ages  that  have  gone  by  since  the 
creation  of  the  world.  Now  and  then,  women  have  arisen,  it 
is  true,  to  vindicate  the  equal  authority  of  their  sex,  and  have 
nobly  won  their  places  in  history;  but  the  growth  of  the  truth 
has  been  slow — so  slow,  that  to-day,  in  this  enlightened  ma- 
turity of  the  world,  we  must  plead  and  prove  all  that  which 
you  should  grant  without  our  asking.  It  is  humiliating  that 
a  woman  is  obliged  to  collect  evidence  to  convince  men  of  her 
equal  intelligence.  She,  who  is  also  included  in  the  one  word, 
Man !  Placed  side  by  side  with  him  in  Paradise — Mother  of 
the  Saviour  who  came  to  redeem  his  fallen  race — first  and 
holiests  among  the  martyrs  and  saints !  Young  men !  Think 
of  your  own  mothers,  and  spare  us  this  humiliation !" 

These  words,  uttered  with  startling  earnestness,  produced  a 
marked  sensation  in  the  audience.  Perhaps  it  was  a  peculiarity 
springing  from  her  Quaker  descent,  that  the  speaker's  voice 
gradually  assumed  the  character  of  a  musical  recitative,  be- 
coming a  clear,  tremulous  chant,  almost  in  monotone.  This 
gave  it  a  sad,  appealing  expression,  which  touched  the  emo« 
tiona'.  nature  of  the  hearer,  and  clouded  his  judgment  for  the 
time  being.  After  a  pause,  she  continued  in  her  ordinary 
tone: 

"  The  pages  of  history  do  not  prove  the  superiority  of  man. 
When  we  consider  the  position  which  he  has  forced  woman  to 
occupy,  we  should  rather  wonder  that  she  has  so  often  resist- 
ed his  authority,  and  won  possession  of  the  empire  which  he 
had  appropriated  to  himself.  In  the  earliest  ages  he  admitted 
her  capacity  to  govern,  a  power  so  high  and  important  in  its 
nature,  that  we  should  be  justified  in  claiming  that  it  embrace! 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  UFS.  Tt 

■n  other  capacities,  and  in  resting  our  defence  on  that  alone. 
Such  women  as  Semirarais  and  Zenobia,  Margaret  of  Deiiraark, 
and  Elizabeth  of  England,  Maria  Theresa,  and  Catharine  of 
Russia,  are  not  the  least — ^not  second,  even — among  great 
rulers.  Jael  and  Judith,  and  the  Maid  of  Orleans  stand  no 
less  high  among  the  deUverers  of  nations,  than  Leonidas  and 
W  iUiam  TelL  The  first  poet  who  sang  may  have  been  Homer, 
but  the  second  was  Sappho.*  Even  in  the  schools  of  Philoso- 
phy, the  ancients  had  their  Hypatia,  and  the  scholars  of  the 
Middle  Ages  honored  the  learning  of  Olympia  Morata.  Men 
claim  the  field  of  scientific  research  as  being  exclusively  their 
own ;  but  the  names  of  Caroline  Herschel  in  England,  and 
Maria  Mitchell  in  America,  prove  that  even  here  women  can 
not  justly  be  excluded.  Ah,  my  friends  I  when  God  calls  a 
human  being  to  be  the  discoverer  of  His  eternal  laws,  or  the 
illustrator  of  His  eternal  beauty,  He  does  not  stop  to  consider 
the  question  of  sex  !  If  you  grant  human  intellect  at  all  to 
AVoman,  you  must  grant  the  possibility  of  inspiration,  of  gen- 
ius, of  a  life  divinely  selected  as  the  instrument  of  some  great 
and  glorious  work.  Admitting  this,  you  may  safely  throw 
open  to  us  all  avenues  to  knowledge.  Hampered  as  Woman 
still  is — circumscribed  in  her  spheres  of  action  and  thought 
(for  her  false  education  permanently  distorts  her  habits  of 
mind) — she  is  yet,  at  present,  far  above  the  Saxon  bondmen 
from  whom  the  most  of  you  are  descended.  You  know  that 
she  has  risen  thus  far,  not  only  without  injury  to  herself,  but 
to  your  advantage :  why  check  her  progress,  here?  Nay,  why 
check  it  any  where  ?  If  Man's  dominion  be  thereby  limited, 
would  his  head  be  less  uneasy,  if  the  crown  he  claims  were 
shared  with  another?  Is  not  a  friend  better  than  a  servant? 
If  Marriage  were  a  partnership  for  Woman,  instead  of  a  derk 
ihipf  the  Head  of  the  House  would  feel  his  burthen  so  much 
the  Ughter.  If  the  physician's  wife  were  competent  to  prepare 
his  medicines,  or  the  merchant's  to  keep  his  books,  or  the  law* 

•  Miss  Thurston  makes  these  statements  on  her  own  responsibilify. 
4 


f4  HAJOIAH  thueston; 

yer*!!  to  draw  up  a  bond,  the  gain  would  be  mutual.  For  Wo 
man,  to  be  a  true  helpmeet  to  Man,  must  know  all  that  Man 
knows ;  and,  even  as  she  is  co-heir  with  him  of  Heaven — re- 
ceivnig,  not  the  legal  '  Third  part,'  but  all  of  its  infinite  ble» 
gedness, — so  she  should  be  co-proprietor  of  the  Earth,  equallj 
armed  to  subdue  its  iniquities,  and  prepare  it  for  a  better 
future !" 

With  these  words,  Hannah  Thurston  closed  her  add  rest 
As  she  quietly  walked  back  to  her  seat  and  resumed  her  hen 
net,  there  was  a  stir  of  satisfaction  among  the  audience,  ler 
minating  in  a  round  of  applause,  which,  however,  she  did  not 
acknowledge  in  any  way.  Although,  in  no  part  of  the  dis- 
course, had  she  touched  the  profounder  aspects  of  the  subject, 
especially  the  moral  distinctions  of  sex,  she  had  given  utter* 
ance  to  many  absolute  truths,  which  were  too  intimately  con 
nected,  in  her  mind,  with  the  doctrine  she  had  adopted,  foi 
her  to  perceive  their  real  independence  of  it.  Thus,  most  of 
her  hearers,  while  compelled  to  agree  with  her  in  many  re- 
spects, still  felt  themselves  unconvinced  in  the  main  particular. 
She  was  not  aware  of  her  own  inability  to  discuss  the  question 
freely,  and  ascribed  to  indifference  or  prejudice  that  reluo- 
tiance  among  men,  which  really  sprang  from  their  generous 
consideration  for  her  sex. 

As  for  Woodbury,  he  had  listened  with  an  awakened  in- 
terest in  her  views,,  which,  for  the  time,  drew  his  attention 
from  the  speaker's  personality.  Her  first  appearance  had 
excited  a  singular  feeling  of  compassion — partly  for  the  trial 
which,  he  fancied,  she  must  undergo,  and  partly  for  the 
mental  delusion  which  was  its  cause.  It  was  some  time  be- 
fore he  was  reassured  by  her  calmness  and  selfpossession. 
At  the  close,  he  was  surprised  to  discover  in  himself  a  lurking 
■ensation  of  regret  that  she  had  not  spoken  at  greater  length. 
**  I  was  wrong  the  other  night,"  he  -thought.  "  This  woman 
is  in  severe  earnest,  and  would  have  been  less  offended  if  I 
had  plumply  declined  her  challenge,  instead  of  evading  iL  J 
have  yet  something  to  learn  from  these  people." 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIPB.  98 

The  Committee  of  Six  now  made  their  report.  Seth  "Wat- 
ties,  who  was  one  of  the  number,  and  had  assumed  to  himself 
the  office  of  Chairman,  read  a  string  of  Resolutions,  setting 
forth.  That :  Whereas,  this  is  an  Age  of  Progress,  and  no  re- 
form  should  be  overlooked  in  the  Great  Battle  for  the  Right 
Therefore,  Resolved — That  we  recognize  in  this  movement 
for  the  Equal  Rights  of  Woman  a  cause  without  the  support 
of  which  no  other  cause  can  be  permanently  successful :  and, 
Resolved,  That  we  will  in  every  way  help  forward  the  good 
work,  by  the  Dissemination  of  Light  and  Information,  tending 
to  set  forth  the  claims  of  Woman  before  the  Community :  also, 
Resolved,  That  we  will  circulate  petitions  to  the  State  Legis- 
lature, for  the  investment  of  Woman  with  all  civil  and  political 
rights :  and,  lastly,  Resolved,  That,  we  will  use  our  best  en- 
deavors to  increase  the  circulation  of  Hie  Monthly  Hollyhock^ 
a  journal  devoted  to  the  cause  of  Women's  Rights. 

Mr.  Merryfield  arose  and  inquired :  "  Shall  the  Report  of 
the  Committee  be  adopted  ?"  He  fortunately  checked  himself 
in  time  not  to  add :  "  as  it  were." 

"  I  move  its  adoption !"  "  I  second  the  motion !"  were  im- 
mediately heard  from  the  platform. 

""  All  who  are  in  favor  of  adopting  the  Resolutions  we  have 
just  heard  read,  will  signify  their  assent  by  saying  'Aye!'" 

A  scattering,  irregular  fire  of  "  Ayes"  arose  in  reply.  The 
boys  felt  that  their  sanction  would  be  out  of  place  on  this  occa- 
sion, with  the  exception  of  two  or  three,  who  hazarded  their 
voices,  in  the  belief  that  they  would  not  be  remarked,  in  the 
general  vote.  To  their  dismay,  they  launched  themselves  into 
an  interval  of  silence,  and  their  shrill  pipes  drew  all  eyes  to 
their  quarter  of  the  house. 

"  Contrary,—'  No  !'  " 

The  opponents  of  the  movement,  considering  that  this  wad 
not  their  meeting,  refrained  from  voting. 

"  Before  the  meeting  adjourns,"  said  Mr.  Merryfield,  again 
rising,  "  I  must — I  take  the  liberty  to  hope,  as  it  were,  that 
the  truths  we  have  heard  this  d^r  may  spread — ^may  sinlt 


^6  HANTTAH  THtTBSTON: 

deeply  into  our  hearts.  We  expect  to  be  able  to  annotmo6| 
before  long,  a  visit  from  Bessie  Stryker,  whose  failure — whom 
we  have  missed  from  among  our  eleg — eloquent  champions. 
But  we  trust  she  is  elsewhere,  and  our  loss  is  their  gain.  1 
thank  the  audience  for  your  attendance — attention,  I  shonid 
say,  and  approbation  of  our  glorious  reform.  As  there  is  nrt 
farther  business  before  the  meeting,  and  our  friends  from  Mul- 
ligansville  and  Atauga  City  have  some  distance  to  return  home, 
we  will  now  adjourn  in  time  to  reach  their  destination." 

At  this  hint  the  audience  rose,  and  began  to  crowd  out  the 
narrow  door-way  and  down  the  steep  staircase.  "Woodbury, 
pushed  and  hustled  along  with  the  rest,  was  amused  at  the 
remarks  of  the  crowd:  "He? — oh,  he's  a  gassy  old  fellow!" 
"  Well,  there's  a  good  deal  of  truth  in  it !"  "  Bessie  Stryker  ? 
Fd  rather  hear  Hannah  Thurston  any  day !"  "  He  didn't  half 
like  it !"  "  She  has  a  better  right  to  say  such  things  than  he 
has !" — and  various  other  exclamations,  the  aggregate  of  which 
led  him  to  infer  that  the  audience  felt  no  particular  interest  in 
the  subject  of  Women's  Rights,  but  had  a  kindly  personal  fe^ 
ii^  towards  Hannah  Thurston. 


L   StOftY    OF   AilEEICAN   UFA.  Sf? 


CHAPTER  VL 

IN   WHICH   T.AKTCSIDB   BECOMES   LIVELT. 

Winter  at  last  set  in — the  steady  winter  of  Central  New 
Fork,  where  the  snow  which  falls  at  the  beginning  of  Decem- 
ber usually  covers  the  ground  until  March.  Ptolea^y,  at  least, 
which  lies  upon  the  northern  side  of  the  watershed  between 
the  Susquehanna  and  the  rivers  which  flow  into  Lake  Ontario, 
has  a  much  less  variable  winter  temperature  than  the  great 
valley,  lying  some  thirty  miles  to  the  southward.  Atauga 
Lake,  in  common  with  Cayuga  and  Seneca,  never  freezes, 
except  across  the  shallows  at  its  southern  end ;  but  its  waters, 
so  piercingly  cold  that  they  seem  to  cut  the  skin  like  the  blade 
of  a  knife,  have  no  power  to  soften  the  northern  winds.  The 
bottoms  between  Ptolemy  and  the  lake,  and  also,  in  fact,  the 
Eastern  and  Western  Valleys,  for  some  miles  behind  the  vil- 
lage, are  open  to  the  North  ;  and  those  sunny  winter  days 
which,  in  more  sheltered  localities,  breathe  away  the  snow, 
here  barely  succeed  in  softening  it  a  Httle.  On  the  hills  it  is 
even  too  deep  for  pleasure.  As  soon  as  a  highway  has  been 
broken  through  the  drifts,  the  heavy  wood-sleds  commence 
ruiniing,  and  very  soon  wear  it  into  a  succession  of  abrupt 
hollows,  over  which  the  light  cutters  go  pitching  like  theii 
nautical  namesakes  in  a  chopping  sea. 

Woodbury,  in  obedience  to  a  promise  exacted  by  his  sister, 
went  to  New  York  for  the  holidays,  and,  as  might  have  been 
anticipated,  became  entangled  in  a  succession  of  social  engage- 
ments, Avhich  detained  him  until  the  middle  of  January.  He 
Boon  grew  tired  of  acting  as  escort  to  his  two  pretty,  but  (il 


?l  HANNAH   THUE8TON  J 

mast  be  confessed,  in  strict  confidence),  shallow  nieces,  whoM 
sole  aesthetic  taste  was  opera — and  in  opera,  especially  V"erdi. 
After  a  dozen  nights  of  "  darling  Bosio,"  and  "  delightful  Be- 
neventano,"  and  "  all  the  rest  of  them,"  he  would  have  been 
glad  to  hear,  as  a  change,  even  the  "Tbza  be-taza^^  of  the  Hiu' 
iloo  nautch-girls.  A  season  of  eastern  rains  and  muddy  streets 
made  the  city  insupportable,  and — ^greatly  to  the  wonder  of 
his  sister's  family — he  declined  an  invitation  to  the  grand 
FiAh  Avenue  ball  of  Mrs.  Luther  Leathers,  in  order  to  return 
to  the  wilderness  of  Ptolemy. 

Taku)g  the  New  York  and  Erie  express-train  to  the  town 
of  Miranda,  he  there  chartered  a  two-horse  cutter,  with  an 
Irish  attachment,  and  set  out  early  the  next  morning.  He 
had  never  before  approached  Ptolemy  from  this  side,  and  the 
journey  had  all  the  charm  of  a  new  region.  It  was  a  crisp, 
clear  day,  the  blood  of  the  horses  was  quickened  by  the  frosty 
air,  and  the  cutter  slid  rapidly  and  noiselessly  over  the  well- 
beaten  track.  With  a  woLf-skin  robe  on  his  knees,  Woodbury 
sat  in  luxurious  warmth,  and  experienced  a  rare  delight  in 
breathing  the  keen,  electric  crystal  of  the  atmosphere.  It  was 
many  years  since  he  had  felt  such  an  exquisite  vigor  of  life 
within  him — such  a  nimble  play  of  the  aroused  blood — such 
lightness  of  heart,  and  hope,  and  courage  !  The  snow-crystals 
sparkled  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  pure  shoulders  of  the  hills 
before  him  shone  like  silver  against  the  naked  blue  of  the  sky. 
He  sang  aloud,  one  after  another,  the  long-forgotten  songs, 
until  his  moustache  turned  to  ice  and  hung  ujion  his  mouth 
like  the  hasp  of  a  padlock. 

Rising  out  of  the  Southern  valleys,  he  sped  along,  over  tbe 
sold,  rolling  uplands  of  the  watershed,  and  reached  Mulligans- 
eille  towards  noon.  Here  the  road  turned  westward,  and  a 
further  drive  of  three  miles  brought  him  to  the  brink  of  the 
long  descent  to  East  Atauga  Creek.  At  this  point,  a  superb 
wuiter  landscape  was  unfolded  before  him.  Ptolemy,  with  its 
spires,  its  one  compactly-built,  ambitious  street,  its  scattered 
houses  and  gardens,  lay  in  the  centre  of  the  picture.     On  the 


k   STOEY    OF    AMERICAN  LIFE.  t9 

frhite  floor  of  the  valley  were  drawn,  with  almost  painfb) 
sharpness  and  distinctness,  the  outlines  of  farm-houses,  and 
barns,  fences,  isolated  trees,  and  the  winding  lirtes  of  elm  and 
alder  which  marked  the  courses  of  the  streams.  Beyond  the 
mouth  of  the  further  valley  rose  the  long,  cultivated  sweep  of 
the  western  hill,  flecked  with  dull-purple  patches  of  pine  forest. 
Koithward,  across  the  white  meadows  and  the  fringe  of  trees 
along  Roaring  Brook,  rose  the  sunny  knoll  of  Lakeside,  shel- 
tered by  the  dark  woods  behind,  while  further,  stretching  far 
away  between  the  steep  shores,  gleamed  the  hard,  steel-blue 
sheet  of  the  lake.  The  air  was  so  in  tensely  clear  that  the  dis- 
tance was  indicated  only  by  a  difi*erence  in  the  hue  of  objects, 
not  by  their  diminished  distinctness. 

"  By  Jove !  this  is  glorious !"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  scarcely 
conscious  that  he  spoke. 

"  Shure,  an'  it's  a  fine  place,  Surr !"  said  the  Irish  driver,  ap 
propriating  the  exclamation. 

Shortly  after  commencing  the  descent,  a  wreck  was  descried 
ahead.  A  remnant  of  aristocracy — or,  at  least,  a  fondness  for 
aristocratic  privilege — still  lingers  among  our  repubUcan  peo- 
ple, and  is  manifested  in  its  most  offensive  form,  by  the  drivers 
of  heavy  teams.  No  one  ever  knew  a  lime- wagon  or  a  wood- 
sled  to  give  an  inch  of  the  road  to  a  Ughter  vehicle.  In  this 
case,  a  sled,  on  its  way  down,  had  forced  an  ascending  cutter 
to  turn  out  into  a  deep  drift,  and  in  attempting  to  regain  the 
track  both  shafts  of  the  latter  had  been  snapped  off.  The  sled 
pursued  its  way,  regardless  of  the  ruin,  and  the  occupants  of 
the  cutter,  a  gentleman, and  lady,  were  holding  a  consultation 
over  their  misfortune,  when  Woodbury  came  in  sight  of  them. 
A.S  the  gentleman  leading  his  horse  back  into  the  drift  to  give 
room,  turned  his  face  towards  the  approaching  cutter,  Wood- 
bury recognized,  projecting  between  ear-lappets  of  fur,  the  cu- 
riously-planted nose,  the  insufiicient  lips,  and  the  prominent 
teeth,  which  belon^fed  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Waldo.  The  recogni- 
^n  was  mutual. 

"My  dear,  it  is  Mr.  Woodbury!"  the  latter  joyfully  cried, 


80  HANNAH    rnUBSTON. 

iurning  to  the  muffled  lady.  She  instantly  stood  up  in  the 
gutter,  threw  back  her  veil,  and  hailed  the  approaching  deliverer: 
"  Help  me,  good  Samaritan  !  The  Levite  has  wrecked  me,  and 
the  Priest  has  enough  to  do,  to  take  care  of  himself !" 

Woodbury  stopped  his  team,  sprang  out,  and  took  a  survey 
»f  the. case.  "It  is  not  to  be  mended,"  said  he;  "you  must 
crowd  yourselves  in  with  me,  and  we  will  drive  on  slowly,  lead- 
ing the  norse." 

"  But  I  have  to  attend  a  funeral  at  Mulligansville — the  child 
of  one  of  our  members,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  "  and  there  is  no 
time  to  lose.  My  dear,  you  must  go  back  with  Mr.  Wood* 
bury.  Perhaps  he  can  take  the  harness  and  robes.  I  will 
ride  on  to  Van  Horn's,  where  I  can  borrow  a  saddle." 

This  arrangement  was  soon  carried  into  effect.  Mr.  Waldo 
mounted  the  bare-backed  steed,  and  went  off  up  the  hill,  thump* 
ing  his  heels  against  the  animal's  sides.  The  broken  shafts 
were  placed  in  the  cutter,  which  was  left  "  to  be  called  for," 
'And  Mrs.  Waldo  took  her  seat  beside  Woodbury.  She  had 
set  out  to  attend  the  funeral,  as  a  duty  enjoined  by  her  hus- 
band's office,  and  was  not  displeased  to  escape  without  damage 
to  her  conscience. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  got  back,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  she  said,  as 
they  descended  the  hill.  "  We  like  to  have  our  friends  about 
us,  in  the  winter,  and  I  assure  you,  you've  been  missed." 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  feel  that  I  have  already  a  place  among 
you,"  he  answered.  "  What  is  the  last  piece  of  gossip  ?  Is 
the  Great  Sewing-Union  still  in  existence  ?" 

"  Not  quite  on  the  old  foundation.  Our  fair  has  been  held 
—  by  the  bye,  there  I  missed  you.  I  fully  depended  on  selling 
you  a  quantity  of  articles.  The  Anti-Slavery  Fair  is  over,  too ; 
but  they  are  still  working  for  the  Jutnapore  Mission,  as  there 
is  a  chance  of  sending  the  articles  direct  to -Madras,  before 
long ;  and  so  the  most  of  us  still  attend,  and  either  assist  them 
or  take  our  own  private  sewing  with  us." 

**  Where  do  you  next  meet  ?" 

"  Ah,  that's  our  principal  trouble.     We  have  exhausted  all 


A   StOKT  OP  AMEBICAN  LIFB.  81 

Uie  available  houses,  besides  going  twice  to  Bue's  and  Wilkin- 
son's. Our  parsonage  is  so  small — a  mere  pigeon-house — that 
it's  out  of  the  question.  1  wish  I  had  some  of  your  empty 
rooms  at  Lakeside.  Now,  there's  an  idea !  Capital !  Confess 
that  my  weak  feminine  brain  is  good  at  resorts !" 

"  What  is  it  ?"  Woodbury  asked. 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?  You  shall  entertain  the  Sewing-TJuion 
one  evening.    We  will  meet  at  Lakeside  :  it  is  just  the  thing !" 

"  Are  you  serious,  Mrs.  Waldo  ?  I  could  not,  of  course,  be 
80  ungracious  as  to  refuse,  provided  there  is  no  impropriety 
in  compliance.     What  would  Ptolemy  say  to  the  plan  ?" 

"  I'll  take  charge  of  that !"  she  cried.  "  Impropriety  !  Are 
you  not  a  steady,  respectable  Member  of  Society,  I  should  like 
to  know  ?  If  there's  any  thing  set  down  against  you,  we  must 
go  to  Calcutta  to  find  it.  And  we  are  sure  there  are  no  trap- 
doors at  Lakeside,  or  walled-up  skeletons,  or  Blue  Beard  cham 
bers.  Besides,  this  isn't  Mulligan sville  or  Anacreon,  and  it  is 
not  necessary  to  be  so  very  straight-laced.  Oh  yes,  it  is  the 
very  thing.  As  for  the  domestic  preparations,  count  on  my 
help,  if  it  is  needed." 

"  I  afn  afraid,"  he  replied,  "  that  Mrs.  Babb  would  resent 
any  interference  with  her  authority.  In  fact,"  he  added, 
laughing,  "  I  am  not  certain  that  it  is  safe  to  decide,  without 
first  consulting  her." 

"  There,  now  !"  rejoined  Mrs.  Waldo.  "  Do  you  remembei 
what  I  once  told  you  ?  Yes,  you  bachelors,  who  boast  of 
your  independence  of  woman,  are  the  only  real  slaves  to  the 
sex.  No  wife  is  such  a  tyrant  as  a  housekeeper.  Not  but 
what  Mrs.  Babb  is  a  very  honest,  conscientious,  proper  sort  of 
a  person, — but  she  don't  make  a  home,  Mr.  Woodbury.  You 
should  get  married." 

"  That  is  easily  said,  Mrs.  Waldo,"  he  replied,  "mth  a  laugh 
which  covered,  like  a  luxuriant  summer  vine,  the  entrance  tc 
a  sighitig  cavern, — "  easily  said,  and  might  be  easily  done,  if 
one  were  allowed  to  choose  a  wife  for  her  domestic  qoalitiaa. 
valued  at  so  much  per  month." 
4* 


83  HANKAH   THtJRSTOW: 

"  Pahaw !"  said  she,  with  assumed  contempt.  "  You  ate 
not  a  natural  cynic,  and  have  no  right  to  be  single,  at  youi 
age,  without  a  good  reason." 

"  Perhaps  there  is  a  good  reason,  Mrs.  Waldo.  Few  per 
§3ns,  I  imagine,  remain  single  from  choice.  I  have  lost  the 
gusceptibility  of  my  younger  days,  but  not  the  ideal  of  a  true 
wedded  life.  I  should  not  dare  to  take  the  only  perfect 
woman  in  the  world,  unless  I  could  be  lover  as  well  as  hus- 
band. I  sincerely  wish  my  chances  were  better :  but  would 
you  have  me  choose  one  of  the  shallow,  showy  creatures  1 
have  just  been  visiting,  or  one  of  your  strong-minded  orators, 
here  iu  Ptolemy  ?" 

Mrs.  Waldo  understood  both  the  earnest  tone  of  the  speaker, 
and  the  veiled  bitterness  of  his  concluding  words.  She  read 
his  heart  at  a  glance,  thorough  woman  as  she  was,  and  honored 
him  then,  and  forever  thenceforth. 

"  You  must  not  take  my  nonsense  for  more  than  it  is  worth, 
Mr.  Woodbury,"  she  answered  softly.  "  Women  at  my  age, 
when  God  denies  them  children,  take  to  match-making,  in  the 
h  ope  of  fulfilling  their  mission  by  proxy.  It  is  unselfish  in  us, 
at  least.  But,  bless  me !  here  we  are,  at  the  village.  Remem- 
ber, the  Sewing-Union  meets  at  Lakeside." 

"  As  soon  as  the  Autocrat  Babb  has  spoken,"  said  he,  as  he 
handed  her  out  at  the  Cimmerian  Parsonage,  "  I  will  sond 
word,  and  then  the  matter  will  rest  entirely  in  your  hands." 

"  Mine  ?  Oh,  I  am  a  female  General  Jackson — ^I  take  the 
responsibility !"  she  cried,  gayly,  as  the  cutter  drove  away. 

Woodbury,  welcomed  at  the  gate  of  Lakeside  by  the  cheery 
face  of  Bute  Wilson,  determined  to  broach  the  subject  at  once 
to  the  housekeeper.  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  was  glad  to  see 
him  again,  but  no  expression  thereof  manifested  itself  in  her 
countenance  and  words.  Wiping  her  bony  right-hand  on  hei 
apron — she  had  been  dusting  the  rooms,  after  sweeping — she 
took  the  one  he  ofiered,  saying:  "How's  your  health,  Sir?" 
and  then  added :  "  I  s'pose  you've  had  a  mighty  fine  time^ 
whWe  you  was  away  ?" 


A   STOKY    OF   AMEBICAN   LIFB.  8t 

"  Not  80  fine  but  that  Fra  glad  to  get  home  agjan,"  he 
luswered.  The  word  "  home"  satisfied  Mrs.  Babb's  sense  of 
justice.  His  sister,  she  was  sure,  was  not  the  housekeeper 
she  herself  was,  and  it  was  only  right  that  he  should  see  and 
•cknowledge  the  fact. 

"  I  want  your  advice,  Mrs.  Babb,"  Woodbury  continued. 
"  Tlie  Sewing-Uuion  propose  to  meet  here,  one  evening, 
lliey  have  gone  the  round  of  all  the  large  houses  in  Ptolemy, 
and  there  seems  to  be  no  other  place  left.  Since  I  have 
settled  in  Lakeside,  I  must  be  neighborly,  you  know.  Could 
we  manage  ^o  entertain  them  ?" 

"  Well — coniin'  so  suddent,  like,  I  don't  hardly  know  what 
to  think.  Things  has  been  quiet  here  for  a  long  time :"  the 
housekeeper  grimly  remarked,  with  a  wheezy  sigh. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Woodbury ;  "  and  of  course  you  must 
have  help." 

"  No !"  she  exclaimed,  with  energy,  "  I  don't  want  no  help — 
leastways  only  Melindy.  The  rooms  must  be  put  to  rights — 
not  but  what  they're  as  good  as  Mrs.  Bue's  any  day ;  and 
there'll  be  supper  for  a  matter  o'  twenty ;  and  cakes  and 
things.     When  is  it  to  be  ?" 

"  Next  Friday,  I  presume  ;  but  can  you  get  along  without 
more  assistance?" 

"  'Taint  every  one  that  would  do  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Babb, 
"There's  sich  a  settin'  to  x-ights,  afterwards.  But  I  can't  have 
strange  help  mixin'  in,  and  things  goin'  wrong,  and  me  to  have 
the  credit  of  it.  Melindy's  used  to  my  ways,  and  there's  not 
many  others  that  knows  what  housekeepin'  is.  Sich  a,  mess  as 
i&me  j)eople  makes  of  it!" 

Secretly,  Mrs.  Babb  was  well  pleased  at  the  opportunity  ot 
publicly  displaying  her  abilities,  but  it  was  not  in  her  nature 
to  do  any  thing  out  of  the  regular  course  of  her  housekeeping, 
without  having  it  understood  that  she  was  making  a  great 
sacrifice.  She  was  not  so  unreasonable  as  to  set  herself  up  for 
an  independent  power,  ))ut  she  stoutly  demanded  and  main- 
tained the  rights  of  a   belligerent.     This  pomt  having  ono« 


84  HANNAH    THUBSTOK  ! 

been  conceded,  however,  she  exhibited  a  wonderfui  energy  i» 
making  the  necessary  preparations. 

Thanks  to  Mrs.  Waldo,  all  Ptolemy  soon  knew  of  the  ar 
rangement,  and,  as  the  invitation  was  general,  nearly  every- 
body decided  to  accept  it.  Few  persons  had  visited  Lakesida 
ince  Mrs.  Dennison's  funeral,  and  there  was  some  curiosity 
to  know  what  changes  had  been  made  by  the  new  owner. 
Besides,  the  sleighing  was  superb,  and  the  moon  nearly  full. 
The  ladies  connected  with  the  Sewing-Union  were  delighted 
with  the  prospect,  and  even  Hannah  Thurston,  finding  that 
her  absence  would  be  the  only  exception  and  might  thus  seem 
intentional,  was  constrained  to  accompany  them.  She  had 
seen  Woodbury  but  once  since  their  rencontre  at  Merryfield's, 
and  his  presence  was  both  unpleasant  and  embarrassing  to  her. 
But  the  Merryfields,  who  took  a  special  pride  in  her  abilities, 
cherished  the  hope  that  she  would  yet  convert  him  to  the  true 
faith,  and  went  to  the  trouble  of  driving  to  Ptolemy  in  order 
to  furnish  her  with  a  conveyance. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  the  guests  began  to  arrive.  Bute, 
aided  by  his  man  Patrick,  met  them  at  the  gate,  and,  after  a 
hearty  greeting  (for  he  knew  everybody),  took  the  horses  and 
cutters  in  charge.  Woodbury,  assuming  the  character  of  host 
according  to  Ptolemaic  ideas,  appeared  at  the  door,  with  Mrs. 
Babb,  rigid  in  black  bombazine,  three  paces  in  his  rear.  The 
latter  received  the  ladies  with  frigid  courtesy,  conducted  them 
up-stairs  to  the  best  bedroom,  and  issued  the  command  to 
each  of  them,  in  turn:  "lay  off  your  Things!"  Their 
curiosity  failed  to  detect  any  thing  incomplete  or  unusual  in 
the  appointments  of  the  chamber.  The  furniture  was  of  the 
Dennison  period,  and  Mrs.  Fortitude  had  taken  care  that  no 
fault  should  be  found  with  the  toilet  arrangements.  Misa 
Eliza  Clancy  had  indeed  whispered  to  Miss  Ruhaney  Good- 
win :  "  AVell,  I  think  they  might  have  some  lavender,  or  bay- 
wrater,  fcr  us," — but  the  latter  immediately  responded  with 
a  warning  "sA.'"  and  drew  from  her  work-bag  a  small 
oiled  silk  package,  which  she  unfolded,  producing  therefrom  a 


A   SIOBY    OF   AALBKICA]^   LIFE.  81 

diminutive  bit  of  sponge,  saturated  with  a  mild  extract  of 
lemon  verbena.  "  Here,''  she  said,  offering  it  to  the  othei 
spinster,  *'  I  always  take  care  to  be  pervided."  ^ 

The  spacious  parlor  at  Lakeside  gradually  filled  with 
Tvorkers  for  the  Mission  Fund.  Mrs.  Waldo  was  among  the 
jariiest  arrivals,  and  took  command,  by  right  of  her  undis- 
puted social  talent.  She  became  absolute  mistress  for  the 
time,  hav'ng,  by  skilful  management,  propitiated  Mrs.  Babb, 
and  fastened  her  in  her  true  place,  at  the  outset,  by  adaman- 
tine chains  of  courtesy  and  assumed  respect.  She  felt  herself 
therefore,  in  her  true  element,  and  distributed  her  subjects 
with  such  tact,  picking  up  and  giving  into  the  right  hands  the 
threads  of  conversation,  perceiving  and  suppressing  petty 
jealousies  in  advance,  and  laughing  away  the  awkwardness  at 
timidity  of  others,  that  Woodbury  could  not  help  saying  to 
himself:  "What  a  queen  of  the  salons  this  woman  would 
have  made !"  It  was  a  matter  of  conscience  with  her,  as  he 
pex'haps  did  not  know,  that  the  occasion  should  be  agreeable, 
not  only  to  the  company,  but  also  to  the  host.  She  was  re- 
sponsible for  its  occurrence,  and  she  felt  that  its  success  would 
open  Lakeside  to  the  use  of  Ptolemy  society. 

There  was  also  little  in  the  principal  parlor  to  attract  the 
attention  of  the  guests.  The  floor  was  stiU  covered  by  the  old 
Brussels  carpet,  with  its  colossal  bunches  of  flowers  of  impos- 
sible color  and  form, — the  wonder  of  Ptolemy,  when  it  was 
new.  There  were  the  same  old-fashioned  chairs,  and  deep 
sofas  with  chintz  covers :  and  the  portraits  of  Mrs.  Dennison, 
and  her  son  Henry,  as  a  boy  of  twelve,  with  his  hand  upon  the 
heal  of  a  Newfoundland  dog,  looked  down  from  the  walls. 
Woodbury  had  only  added  engravings  of  the  Madonna  di  San 
Si:*to  and  the  Transfiguration,  neither  of  which  was  greatly  ad- 
mired by  the  visitors.  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue,  pausing  a  moment 
to  inspect  the  former,  said  of  the  Holy  ChUd  :  '"Why,  it  looks 
Just  like  my  little  Addy,  when  she's  got  her  clothes  off!" 

In  the  sitting-room  were  Landseer's  "  Challenge"  and  Arj 
Bcheffer's  "  Francesca  da  Rimini."     Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwill 


•M  HAIfKAH   THUBSTON: 

turned  suddenly  away  from  the  latter,  with  diflSculty  STip])T«i' 
sing  an  exclamation.  "Did  you  ever?"  said  she  to  Miss EKzfl 
Clancy ;  "  it  isn't  right  to  have  such  pictures  hung  up." 

"  Hush  I"  answered  Miss  Eliza,  "  it  may  be  from  Scripture.** 

Miss  Ruhane)  now  contemplated  the  picture  without  hesita* 
tion.  It  was  a  proof  before  lettering.  "  What  can  it  be,  then?* 
she  asked. 

"Well — I  shouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  Jephthah  and  liii 
daughter.     They  both  look  so  sorrowful." 

The  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles  and  his  wife  presently  arrived* 
They  were  both  amiable,  honest  persons,  who  enjoyed  their 
importance  in  the  community,  without  seeming  to  assume  it. 
The  former  was,  perhaps,  a  little  over-cautious  lest  he  should 
forget  the  strict  line  of  conduct  which  had  been  prescribed  for 
him  as  a  theological  student.  He  felt  that  his  duty  properly 
required  him  to  investigate  Mr.  Woodbury's  religious  views, 
before  thus  appearing  to  endorse  them  by  his  presence  at 
Lakeside ;  but  he  had  not  courage  to  break  the  dignified  re- 
serve which  the  latter  maintained,  and  was  obliged  to  satisfy 
his  conscience  with  the  fact  that  Woodbury  had  twice  at- 
tended his  church.  Between  Mr.  Waldo  and  himself  there 
was  now  a  very  cordial  relation.  They  had  even  cautiously 
discussed  the  diflferences  between  them,  and  had  in  this  way 
learned,  at  least,  to  respect  each  other's  sincerity. 

The  last  of  all  the  arrivals  before  tea  was  Mr.  and  Mi's.  Mer- 
ryfield,  with  Hannah  Thurston.  The  latter  came,  as  already 
mentioned,  with  great  reluctance.  She  would  rather  have 
&ced  an  unfriendly  audience  than  the  courteous  and  self-pos- 
sessed host  who  came  to  the  door  to  receive  her.  He  op- 
pressed her,  not  only  with  a  sense  of  power,  but  of  power 
controlled  and  directed  by  some  cool  faculty  in  the  brain, 
wiaich  she  felt  she  did  not  possess.  In  herself,  whatever  of 
intellectual  force  she  recognized,  was  developed  through  the 
excitement  of  her  feelings  and  sympathies.  His  })ersonality, 
It  seemed  to  her,  Avas  antagonistic  to  her  own,  and  the  knowl- 
edge gave  her  a  smgular  sense  of  pain.    She  was  womao 


A.  STORY  or  a:mericak  ufe.  M 

enough  not  to  tolerate  a  difierence  of  this  kind  without  a 

Btrugjyle. 

"Thank  you  for  coming,  Miss  Hiurston,"  said  Woodbury, 
as  he  frankly  offered  his  hand.  "  I  should  not  Uke  any  mem* 
ber  of  the  Union  to  slight  my  first  attempt  to  entertain  it  I 
am  glad  to  welcome  you  to  Lakeside." 

llannah  Thurston  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  with  an  effort  that 
brought  a  fleeting  flush  to  her  face.  But  she  met  his  gaze, 
steadily.  "  We  owe  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  Woodbuiy,"  said  she, 
**  that-  Lakeside  still  belongs  to  our  Ptolemy  community.  I 
confess  I  should  not  like  to  see  so  pleasant  a  spot  isolated,  or 
— what  the  people  of  Ptolemy  would  consider  much  worse,' 
she  added,  smiUng — "  attached  to  Anacreon." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  he  answered,  as  he  transferred  her  to  the  charge 
of  Mrs.  Babb.  "  I  have  become  a  thorough  Ptolemaic,  or  a 
Ptolemystic,  or  whatever  the  proper  term  may  be.  I  hurl  defi- 
ance across  the  hill  to  Anacreon,  and  I  turn  my  back  on  the 
south-east  wind,  when  it  blows  from  MuUigansvUle." 

"  Corae,  come !  We  won't  be  satirized  ;"  said  Mrs.  Waldo, 
who  was  passing  through  the  hall.  "  Hannah,  you  are  just  in 
time.  There  are  five  of  the  Mission  Fund  sitting  together,  and 
I  want  their  ranks  broken.  Mr.  Woodbury,  there  will  be  no 
more  ar'-ivals  before  tea ;  give  me  your  assistance." 

"  Who  is  the  tyrant  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"Woman,  always,  in  one  shape  or  other,"  she  answered 
leading  the  way  into  the  parlor. 

After  the  very  substantial  tea  which  Mrs.  Babb  had  pre- 
pared, and  to  which,  it  must  be  whispered,  the  guests  did 
ample  justice,  there  was  a  pause  in  the  labors  of  the  Union. 
The  articles  intended  for  the  Jutnapore  Mission  were  nearly 
completed,  in  fact,  and  Mrs.  Waldo's  exertions  had  promoted 
a  genial  flow  of  conversation,  which  did  not  require  the  aid  of 
the  suggestive  needle.  The  guests  gathered  in  groups,  chat- 
ting at  the  windows,  looking  out  on  the  gray,  twilight  land- 
scape, or  watching  the  aiiinx>ach  of  cutters  from  Ptolemy,  a« 
they   emerged  from   the   trees   along  Roaring  Brook.     Mr 


88  HAMNAH   THTTBSTOir: 

Hamilton  Bue  and  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder  were  the  first  to 
make  their  appearance,  not  much  in  advance,  however,  of  the 
crowd  of  ambitious  young  gentlemen.  Many  of  the  latter  were 
personally  unknown  to  Woodbury,  hut  this  was  not  the  least 
embarrassment  to  them.  They  gave  him  a  rapid  salutation, 
ince  it  was  not  to  be  avoided,  and  hurried  in  to  secure  advan- 
tageous positions  among  the  ladies.  Seth  "Wattles  not  only 
came,  to  enjoy  a  hospitality  based,  as  he  had  hinted,  on  the 
"accursed  opium  traffic,"  but  brought  with  liim  a  stranger 
from  Ptolemy,  a  Mr.  Grindle,  somewhat  known  as  a  lecturer 
on  Temperance. 

The  rooms  were  soon  filled  and  Woodbury  was  also  obliged 
to  throw  open  his  library,  into  which  the  elderly  gentlemen 
withdrew,  with  the  exception  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Styles.  Mr. 
Waldo  relished  a  good  story,  even  if  the  point  was  somewhat 
coarse,  and  the  Hon.  Zeno  had  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  such. 
Mr.  Bue,  notwithstanding  he  felt  bound  to  utter  an  occasional 
mild  protest,  always  managed  to  be  on  hand,  and  often,  in  his 
great  innocence,  suggested  the  very  thing  which  he  so  evi- 
dently wished  to  avoid.  If  the  conversation  had  been  for  some 
time  rather  serious  and  heavy,  he  would  say :  "  Well,  Mr. 
Harder,  I  am  glad  we  shall  have  none  of  your  wicked  stories 
to-night" — a  provocation  to  which  the  Hon.  Zeno  always  re- 
sponded by  giving  one. 

Bute  Wilson,  after  seeing  that  the  horses  were  properly 
attended  to,  washed  his  hands,  brushed  his  hair  carefully,  and 
put  on  his  Sunday  frock-coat.  Miss  Caroline  Dilworth  was 
one  of  the  company,  but  he  had  been  contented  with  an  occa- 
sional  glimpse  of  her  through  the  window,  until  the  arrival  of 
Seth  Wattles.  The  care  of  the  fires  in  the  grates,  the  lamps, 
and  other  arrangements  of  the  evening,  gave  him  sufficient 
opportunity  to  mix  with  the  company,  and  watch  both  his 
sweetheart  and  his  presumed  rival,  without  appearing  to  do  so. 
"  Darn  that  blue-gilled  baboon  !"  he  muttered  to  himself;  "  1 
believe  his  liver's  whiter  than  the  milt  of  a  herrin',  au'  if  you'd 
out  his  yaller  skin,  he'd  bleed  whey  'stid  o'  blood." 


A    STORY   OF   AMEBICiLN'  IITIB.  f^O 

Seth  Wattles,  nevertheless,  was  really  guiltless  of  any  designs 
on  the  heart  of  the  little  seamstress.  Like  herself,  he  was  am- 
bitious of  high  game,  and,  in  the  dreams  of  his  colossal  con 
ceit,  looked  forward  with  much  confidence  to  the  hour  when 
Hannah  Thurston  should  take  his  name,  or  he  hers :  he  was 
prepared  for  either  contingency.  To  this  end  he  assumed  a 
tender,  languishing  air,  and  talked  of  Love,  and  A  Mission, 
and  The  Duality  of  The  Soul,  in  a  manner  which,  in  a  more 
cultivated  society,  would  have  rendered  him  intolerable.  He 
had  a  habit  of  placing  his  hand  on  the  arm  or  shoulder  of  the 
person  with  whom  he  was  conversing,  and  there  were  in 
Ptolemy  women  silly  enough  to  be  pleased  by  these  tokens  of 
familiarity.  Hannah  Thurston,  though  entirely  harmonizing 
with  him  as  a  reformer,  and  therefore  friendly  and  forbearing 
in  her  intercourse,  felt  a  natural  repugnance  towards  him 
which  she  could  not  understand.  Indeed,  the  fact  gave  hei 
some  uneasiness.  "  He  is  ngly,"  she  thought ;  "  and  I  am  so 
weak  as  to  dislike  ugliness — it  mpst  be  that :"  which  conclu- 
sion, acting  on  her  sensitive  principle  of  justice,  led  her  to 
treat  him  sometimes  with  more  than  necessary  kindness.  Many 
persons,  the  Merryfields  included,  actually  fancied  that  there 
was  a  growing  attachment  between  them. 

"Miss  Carrie,"  whispered  Bute,  as  he  passed  her  in  the  hall, 
"  Do  you  like  your  lemonade  sweet  ?  We're  goin'  to  bring  it 
in  directly,  and  I'll  git  Mother  Forty  to  make  a  nice  glass  of 
it,  o'  purpose  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Wilson :  yes,  if  you  please,"  answered  the 
soft,  childish  drawl  and  the  beryl-tinted  eyes,  that  sent  a  thou- 
sand  cork-screw  tingles  boring  through  and  through  him. 

Bute  privately  put  six  lumps  of  sugar  into  one  glass,  which 
he  marked  for  recognition ;  and  then  squeezed  the  last  bittei 
drops  of  a  dozen  lemons  into  another. 

The  lattei  was  for  Seth  Wattles.  v 


90  HAKKAH  THUBSTOIf  : 


CHAPTER  VIL 

WHAT   HAPPBITED   DUEING   THE   KVJSNlNa. 

Woodbury  had  prudently  left  the  preparations  for  the  re- 
freshment of  his  numerous  guests  in  the  hands  of  Mrs.  Babb, 
who,  aided  by  the  sable  Melinda,  had  produced  an  immense 
supply  of  her  most  admired  pastry.  By  borrowing  freezers 
from  the  confectioner  in  Ptolemy,  and  employing  Patrick  to  do 
the  heavy  churning,  she  had  also  succeeded  in  furnishing  very 
tolerable  ices.  The  entertainment  was  considered  to  be — and, 
for  country  means,  really  was — sumptuous.  Nevertheless,  the 
housekeeper  was  profuse  in  her  apologies,  receiving  the  abun- 
dant praises  of  her  guests  with  outward  grimness  and  secret 
satisfaction. 

"  Try  these  crullers,"  she  would  say :  "  p'r'aps  you'll  find 
'em  better  'n  the  jumbles,  though  Fm  afeard  they  a'n't  hardly 
done  enough.  But  you'll  have  to  put  up  with  sich  as  there 
is." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Babb  1"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue,  "  don't 
say  that!  Nobody  bakes  as  nice  as  you  do.  I  wish  you'd 
give  me  the  receipt  for  the  jumbles." 

"  You're  welcome  to  it,  if  you  like  'em,  Fm  sure.  But  it 
depends  on  the  seasonin',  and  I  don't  never  know  if  they're 
goin'  to  come  out  right." 

"  Mrs,  Babb,"  said  Woodbury,  coming  up  at  this  moment, 
"  will  you  please  get  a  bottle  of  Sherry.  The  gentlemen,  I  see, 
have  nothing  but  lemonade." 

"1  toiJ  Bute  to  git  some  for  them  as  likes  it.'* 

"A-hm!"  Mrs.  Bue  ejaculated,  as  the  housekeeper  de^ 
parted  to  look  after  the  wine ;  "  I  think,  Mr.  Woodbury,  they 
don't  take  any  thing  more." 


A   STOBY    OF    ATVrKRICAN   UFB.  91 

**  Jjei  me  give  them  a  chance,  Mrs.  Bue.  Ah,  here  comes 
Bate,  with  the  glasses.  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  ?"  offering 
her  one  of  the  two  which  he  had  taken. 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  no — not  for  any  thing !"  she  exclaimed,  look- 
ing a  little  frightened. 

"  Mr.  Bue,"  said  Woodbury,  turning  around  to  that  gentle 
man,  "  as  Mrs.  Bue  refuses  to  take  a  glass  of  wine  with  me 
you  must  be  her  substitute." 

"  Thank  you,  I'd — ^I'd  rather  not,  this  evening,"  said  Mr. 
Bue,  growing  red  in  the  face. 

There  was  an  embarrassing  pause.  Woodbury,  looking 
ai'ound,  perceived  that  Bute  had  already  offered  his  tray  to  the 
other  gentlemen,  and  that  none  of  the  glasses  upon  it  had  been 
taken.  He  was  about  to  replace  his  own  without  drinking, 
when  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder  said :  "  Allow  me  the  pleasure, 
Sir !"  and  helped  himself.  At  the  same  moment  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Waldo,  in  obedience  to  a  glance  from  his  wife,  followed  hia 
example. 

"  I  have  not  tasted  wine  for  some  years,"  said  the  latter, 
"  but  I  have  no  objection  to  its  rational  use.  I  have  always 
considered  it  sanctioned,"  he  added,  turning  to  Mr.  Styles, 
"  by  the  Miracle  of  Caua." 

Mr.  Styles  shghtly  nodded,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Your  good  health,  Sir  !"  said  the  Hon.  Zeno,  as  he  emptied 
his  glass. 

'"'■  Health  f^"*  somebody  echoed,  in  a  loud,  contemptuous 
whisper. 

Woodbury  bowed  and  drank.  As  he  was  replacicg  his 
glass,  Mr,  Grindle,  who  had  been  waiting  for  the  consumma- 
bon  of  the  iniquity,  suddenly  stepped  forward.  Mr.  Gjiudle 
was  a  thin,  brown  individual,  with  a  long,  twisted  nose,  and  a 
voice  which  acquired  additional  shrillness  from  the  fact  of  its 
ippearing  to  proceed  entirely  from  the  said  nose.  He  had  oo- 
casionally  lectured  in  Ptolemy,  and  was  known, — by  sight,  at 
least, — to  all  the  company.  Woodbury,  however,  was  quite 
Ignorant  of  the  man  and  every  thing  concerning  him. 


M  BANS  AM  thubstok: 

"I  am  surprised,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Grindle,  with  his  eyei 
fixed  on  vacancy,  "  that  a  man  who  has  any  regard  for  hit 
reputation  will  set  such  a  pernicious  example." 

"  To  what  do  you  refer  ?"  asked  Woodbury,  uncertain 
whether  it  was  he  who  was  addressed. 

"  To  that  /"  replied  the  warning  prophet,  pointing  to  tht 
empty  wine-glass — "  the  source  of  nine-tenths  of  all  the  sio 
and  suffering  in  the  woi'ld  I" 

"  I  think  you  would  have  some  difficulty  in  finding  Sherry 
enough  to  produce  such  a  resuil, '  Woodbury  answered 
beginning  to  understand  the  man. 

"  Sherry,  or  Champagne,  or  Heidsick  I"  retorted  Mr.  Grin« 
die,  raising  his  voice :  "  it's  all  the  same — all  different  forma 
of  Rum,  and  different  degrees  of  Intemperance !" 

Woodbury's  brown  eyes  flashed  a  little,  but  he  answered 
coolly  and  sternly :  "  As  you  say,  Sir,  there  are  various  forms 
of  intemperance,  and  I  have  too  much  respect  for  my  guests 
to  allow  that  any  of  them  should  be  exhibited  here.  Mrs. 
Waldo,"  he  continued,  turning  his  back  on  the  lecturer,  and 
suddenly  changing  his  tone,  "  did  you  not  propose  that  we 
should  have  some  music  ?" 

"  I  have  both  persuaded  and  commanded,"  she  rephed,  "  but 
singers,  I  have  found,  are  Uke  a  flock  of  sheep.  They  huddle 
together  and  hesitate,  until  some  one  takes  the  lead,  and  then 
they  all  follow,  even  if  it's  over  your  head.  You  must  be 
bell-wether,  after  all." 

"  Any  thing  for  harmony,"  he  answered,  gayly.  "  Ah  I  I 
have  it — a  good  old  song,  with  which  none  of  our  friends  can 
find  fault." 

And  he  sang,  in  his  mellow  voice,  with  an  amused  air,  which 
Mrs.  Waldo  understood  and  heartily  enjoyed :  "  Drink  to  mt 
only  with  thine  eyes.^^ 

Mr.  Grindle,  however,  turned  to  Seth  Wattles  and  saidj 
sneeringly :  "It's  easy  enough  to  shirk  an  argument  you  can't 
answer."  A  fortnight  afterwards  he  exploited  the  incidsnt  in 
a  lecture  which  he  gave  before  the  Sons  of  Temperance,  at 


A   STOST   OF   AMBBICAK  UFB.  ft 

% 

Ptolemy,  Commencing  with  the  cheap  groggeries,  he  grada- 
ftlly  rose  in  his  attacks  until  he  reached  the  men  of  wealth  and 
education.  "There  are  some  of  these  in  our  neighborhood," 
he  said :  "  it  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  mention  names — men 
whom  perhaps  we  might  excuse  for  learning  the  habit  of  rum- 
drinking  on  foreign  shores,  where  our  blessed  reform  has  not 
jet  penetrated,  if  they  did  not  bring  it  here  with  them,  to  cor- 
rupt and  destroy  our  own  citizens.  Woe  unto  those  men,  say  11 
Better  that  an  ocean  of  fire  had  rolled  between  those  distant 
shores  of  delusion  and  debauchery  and  this  redeemed  land,  so 
that  they  could  not  have  returned !  Better  that  they  had  per- 
ished under  the  maddening  influence  of  the  bowl  that  stingeth 
like  an  adder,  before  coming  here  to  add  fresh  hecatombs  to  the 
Jaws  of  the  Monster!"  Of  course,  everybody  in  Ptolemy 
knew  who  was  meant,  and  sympathizing  friends  soon  carried 
the  report  to  Lakeside. 

The  unpleasant  episode  was  soon  forgotten,  or,  from  a  natural 
sense  of  propriety,  no  longer  commented  upon.  Even  the 
strongest  advocates  of  Temperance  present  felt  mortified  by 
Mr.  Grindle's  vulgarity.  Hannah  Thurston,  among  others, 
was  greatly  pained,  yet,  for  the  first  time,  admired  Wood- 
bury's coolness  and  self-possession,  in  the  relief  which  it  gave 
her.  She  wished  for  an  opportunity  to  show  him,  by  her  man- 
ner, a  respect  which  might  in  some  degree  counterbalance  the 
recent  rudeness,  and  such  an  opportunity  soon  occurred. 

She  was  standing  before  the  picture  of  Francesca  da  Rimini, 
lost  in  the  contemplation  of  the  wonderful  grace  and  pathos" 
of  the  floating  figures,  when  Woodbury,  approaching  her,  saidi 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  admire  it,  Miss  Thurston.  The  pic- 
ture is  a  great  favorite  with  me." 

"  The  subject  is  from  Dante,  is  it  not  ?"  she  asked  ;  "  that 
figure  is  he,  I  think." 

Woodbury  was  agreeably  surprised  at  her  perception,  espe- 
cially as  she  did  not  say  "l>aw«,"  which  he  might  possibly  hav€ 
expected.  He  explained  ihe  engraving,  and  found  that  she 
recollected  the  story,  leaving  read  Gary's  translation. 


•i  HANNAH  THTJKSTON: 

« 

"  Since  you  are  so  fond  of  pictures,  Miss  Thurston*"  Bidd 
he,  "  let  me  show  you  another  favorite  of  mine.  Here,  in  th< 
library." 

Taking  a  large  portfolio  from  its  rack,  he  opened  it  on  th^ 
table,  under  a  swinging  lamp.  There  were  views  of  Indian 
Scenery — strange  temples,  rising  amid  plumy  tufts  of  palm ; 
elephants  and  tigers  grappling  in  jungles  of  gigantic  grass; 
pillared  banians,  with  gray-bearded  fakirs  sitting  in  thf 
shade,  and  long  ghauts  descending  to  the  Ganges,  The  glimp- 
ses she  caught,  as  he  turned  the  leaves,  took  away  her  breath 
with  sudden  delight. 

At  last  he  found  the  plate  he  was  seeking,  and  laid  it  be- 
fore her.  It  was  a  tropical  brake,  a  tangle  of  mimosa-trees, 
with  their  feathery  fronds  and  balls  of  golden  down,  among 
which  grew  passion-flowers  and  other  strange,  luxuriant  vines. 
In  the  midst  of  the  cool,  odorous  darkness,  stood  a  young  In- 
dian girl  of  wonderful  beauty,  with  languishing,  almond-shaped 
eyes,  and  some  gorgeous  unknown  blossom  drooping  from 
her  night-black  hair.  Her  only  garment,  of  plaited  grass  or 
rushes,  was  bound  across  the  hips,  leaving  the  lovely  form  bare 
in  its  unconscious  purity.  One  hand,  listlessly  hanging  among 
the  mimosa  leaves,  which  gradually  folded  up  and  bent  away 
where  she  touched  them,  seemed  to  seek  the  head  of  a  doe, 
thrust  out  from  the  foliage  to  meet  it.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
picture  a  fawn  forced  its  way  through  the  tangled  greenery. 
The  girl,  in  her  dusky  beauty,  seemed  a  dryad  of  the  sump- 
tuous forest — the  child  of  summer,  and  perfume,  and  rank, 
magnificent  bloom. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful  1"  exclaimed  Hannah  Thurston,  at  onoe 
impressed  by  the  sentiment  of  the  picture :  "  It  is  like  the  scent 
of  the  tube  rose." 

"  Ah,  you  comprehend  it !"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  surprised 
•nd  pleased :  "  do  you  know  the  subject  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  but  it  scarcely  needs  an  explanation." 

*'  Have  you  ever  heard  of  Kalidasa,  the  Hindoo  poet  ?" 

**  I  have  not,  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  she  answered ;   "  I  have 


A   fftORT    OF    AMERICAN   L1P«.  M 

■ometimes  found  references  to  the  old  Sanscrit  literature  in 
modern  authors,  but  that  is  all  I  know  about  it." 

"  My  own  knowledge  has  been  derived  entirely  from  trans 
lations,"  said  he,  "  and  I  confess  that  this  picture  was  the  cause 
of  my  acquaintance  with  Kalidasa.  I  never  had  patience  to 
read  their  interminable  epics.  Shall  I  tell  you  the  story  ol 
Sakontala,  this  lovely  creature  ?" 

"  Certainly,  if  you  will  be  so  kind :  it  must  be  beautiful." 

Wov>dbnry  then  gAve  her  a  brief  outline  of  the  drama,  to 
which  she  listened  with,  the  greatest  eagerness  and  delight. 
At  the  close,  he  said : 

"  I  am  sorry  I  have  uot  a  copy  of  the  translation  to  offei 
you.  But,  if  you  wouivi  like  to  read  another  work  by  the 
same  poet,  I  think  I  havo  the  '  Megha-Duta^  or  '  Cloud-Mes- 
senger,' somewhere  in  my  library.  It  is  quite  as  beautiful  a 
poem,  though  not  in  the  dramatic  form.  There  are  many  cha- 
racteristic allusions  to  Indian  life,  but  none,  I  think,  that  you 
could  not  understand." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Woodbury.  It  is  not  often  that  I  am 
able  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  new  author,  and  the  pleas- 
ure is  all  the  greater.  I  know  very  little  of  literature  outside 
of  the  English  language,  and  this  seems  like  the  discovery  oi 
a  new  world  in  the  Past.     India  is  so  far-off  and  unreal." 

"  Not  to  me,"  he  answered,  with  a  smile.  *'  We  are  crea 
tures  of  habit  to  a  greater  extent  than  the  most  of  us  guess. 
If  you  could  now  be  transplanted  to  India,  in  less  than  fivt 
years  you  would  begin  to  imagine  that  you  were  born  undei 
the  lotus-leaf,  and  that  this  life  in  Ptolemy  had  occurred  onlj 
in  the  dreams  of  a  tropical  noonday." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  said  she,  with  earnestness.  "We  cannot  se 
orget  the  duties  imposed  upon  us — we  cannot  lose  sight  oi 
Mr  share  in  the  great  work  intrusted  to  our  hands.  Rignt^ 
and  Justice,  and  Conscience,  are  everywhere  the  same  1" 

"  Certainly,  as  absolute  principles.  ■  But  our  individu.al  duties 
vary  with  every  change  in  our  lives,  an.l  our  individual  actioii 
is  affected,  in  spite  of  ourselves^  by  the  influences  of  the  exter- 


M  HAITN-AH  TflXJESTOlr: 

Dal  world.  Are  you  not — to  take  the  simplest  evidence  of  tbii 
fact — cheerftil  and  hopeful  on  some  days,  desponding  and 
iiresolute  on  others,  without  conscious  reason  ?  And  can  you 
aot  imagine  moods  of  Nature  which  would  permanently  color 
your  own?" 

FTannah  Thurston  felt  that  there  was  a  germ  of  harsh,  ma- 
If  f'ai  truth  in  his  words,  beside  which  her  aspirations  lost 
ermewhat  of  their  glow.  Again  she  was  conscious  of  a  pain- 
ful, unwelcome  sense  of  repulsion.  "  Is  there  no  faith  ?"  she 
asked  herself;  "  are  there  no  lofty  human  impulses,  under  this 
ripe  intelligence?"  The  soft,  liquid  lustre  faded  out  of  her 
eyes,  and  the  eager,  animated  expression  of  her  face  passed 
away  like  the  sunshine  from  a  cloud,  leaving  it  cold  and  gray. 

Woodbury,  seeing  Miss  Eliza  Clancy,  in  company  with 
other  ladies,  entering  the  library,  tied  up  the  portfolio  and 
replaced  it  in  its  rack.  Mrs.  Waldo,  pressing  forward  at  the 
same  time,  noticed  upon  the  table  a  Chinese  joss-stick,  in  its 
lackered  boat.  She  was  not  a  woman  to  disguise  or  restram 
an  ordinary  curiosity. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  this  ?"  she  asked,  taking  the  boat  in 
her  hands.  The  other  ladies  clustered  around,  inspecting  it 
from  all  sides,  but  unable  to  guess  its  use. 

"  Now,"  said  Woodbury,  laughing,  "  I  have  half  a  mind  to 
torment  you  a  little.  You  have  all  read  the  Arabian  Nights  ? 
Well,  this  is  an  instrument  of  enchantment." 

"Enchantment!  Do  the  Indian  jugglers  use  it?"  asked 
Mrs.  Waldo. 

"  /use  it,"  said  he.  "  This  rod,  as  it  appears  to  be,  is  made 
of  a  mysterious  compound.  It  has  been  burned  at  one  end, 
you  see.  When  lighted,  it  is  employed  to  communicate  fire 
to  another  magical  substance,  through  which  the  Past  u 
recalled  and  the  Future  made  clear." 

Miss  Clancy  and  the  other  spinsters  opened  their  eyes  wide, 
in  wonderment.  "Provoking!  Tell  us  now!"  cried  Mrs. 
Waldo. 

"It  is  just  as  I  say,"  ho  answered.     "  See,  when  I  light  th« 


A   8T0BY    OP   AMEBICAN   IJ7B.  9^ 

and — thus — it  burns  with  a  very,  slow  fire.  This  single  piece 
would  burn  for  nearly  a  whole  day." 

"But  what  is  the  other  magical  substance?-'  she  asked. 

"  Here  is  a  specimen,"  said  he,  taking  the  lid  from  a  circulai 
box  of  carved  bamboo,  and  disclosing  to  their  view  some  cigara 

The  spinsters  uttered  a  simultaneous  exclamation.  "  Dread 
fill!"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  in  affected  horror.  "Hannah,  can 
you  imagine  such  depravity  ?" 

"I  confess,  it  seems  to  me  an  unnatural  taste,"  Hannah 
Thurston  gravely  answered ;  "but  I  presume  Mr.  Woodbury 
has  some  defence  ready." 

*'  Only  this,"  said  he,  with  an  air  between  jest  and  earnest, 
"that  the  habit  is  very  agreeable,  and,  since  it  produces  a 
placid,  equable  tone  of  mind,  highly  favorable  to  reflection, 
might  almost  be  included  in  the  list  of  moral  agencies." 

"  Would  it  not  be  more  satisfactoiy,"  she  asked,  "  if  you 
ftould  summon  up  the  same  condition  of  mind,  from  an  earnest 
desire  to  attain  the  Truth,  without  the  help  of  narcotic  drugs  ?" 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  rephed;  "but  we  are  all  weak  vessels,  as 
you  know,  Mrs.  Waldo.  I  have  never  yet  encountered  such  a 
thing  as  perfect  harmony  in  the  relations  between  body  and 
mind.  I  doubt,  even,  if  such  hai'mony  is  possible,  except  at 
transient  intervals.  For  my  part,  my  temper  is  so  violent  and 
uncontrollable  that  the  natural  sedative  qualities  of  my  mind 
are  insufficient." 

Mrs.  Waldo  laughed  heartily  at  this  assertion,  and  the 
serious  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered.  Hannah  Thurston,  to 
i^hom  every  fancied  violation  of  the  laws  of  nature  was  more 
01  less  an  enormity,  scarcely  knew  whether  to  be  shocked  or 
imnsed.  She  had  determined  to  carefully  guard  herself  against 
committing  such  an  indiscretion  as  Mr.  Grindle,  but  it  waa 
hard  to  be  silent,  when  Duty  demanded  that  she  should  bear 
a  stern  testimony  against  evil  habits. 

"You  should  be  charitable,  ladies,"  Woodbury  continued, 
"  towards  some  of  our  masculine  habits,  seeing  that  we  do  bol 
interfere  with  yours." 


PB  HANNAH  THt7RST0N: 

"  Bless  me !  what  habits  have  we,  I  should  like  to  know  1" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"  A  multitude :  I  don't  know  the  half  of  them.  Crochet- 
work,  and  embroidery,  and  patterns,  for  instance.  Tea  is 
milder  than  tobacco,  I  grant,  but  your  systems  are  more  sensi- 
tive Then,  there  are  powders  and  perfumes ;  eau  de  Cologne, 
lavender,  verbena,  heliotrope,  and  what  not — against  all  of 
which  I  have  nothing  to  say,  because  their  odors  are  nearly 
jqual  to  that  of  a  fine  Havana  cigar." 

Miss  Eliza  Clancy  and  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin  exchanged  ' 
glances  of  horror.     They  were  both  too  much  embarrassed  to 
reply. 

"  You  understand  our  weaknesses,"  said  Hannah  Thurston, 
with  a  smile  in  which  there  was  some  bitterness. 

"  I  do  not  call  them  weaknesses,"  he  answered.  "  I  should 
be  glad  if  this  feminine  love  of  color  and  odor  were  more  com^- 
mon  among  men.  But  there  are  curious  differences  of  taste, 
in  this  respect.  I  have  rarely  experienced  a  more  exquisite 
delight  than  in  riding  through  the  rose-fields  of  Ghazeepore,  at 
the  season  for  making  attar :  yet  some  persons  cannot  endure 
the  smell  of  a  rose.  Musk,  which  is  a  favorite  perfume  with 
many,  is  to  me  disagreeable.  There  is,  however,  a  physical 
explanation  for  this  habit  of  mine,  which,  perhaps,  you  do  not 
know." 

"  No,"  said  she,  still  gravely,  "  I  know  nothing  but  that  il 
seems  to  me  unnecessary,  and — if  you  will  pardon  me  the 
word — pernicious." 

"  Certainly.  It  is  so,  in  many  cases.  But  some  constitutions 
possess  an  overplus  of  active  nervous  life,  which  suggests  the 
use  of  a  slight  artificial  sedative.  The  peculiar  fascination  ol 
smoking  is  not  in  the  taste  of  the  weed,  but  the  sight  of  the 
jmoke.  It  is  the  ear  of  corn  which  we  hold  out  to  entice  into 
harness  the  skittish  thoughts  that  are  running  loose.  In  the 
Orient,  men  accomplish  the  same  result  by  a  rosary,  the  beads 
of  which  they  run  through  their  fingers." 

"  Yes  1"  interrupted  Mrs.  Waldo :      "  My  brother  George, 


A   StORT   OF  AMERICAN  LIPB.  9l 

irlio  was  always  at  the  head  of  his  class,  had  a  habit  of  twisV 
ing  a  lock  of  his  hair  while  he  was  getting  his  lessons.  It 
stuck  out  from  the  side  of  his  head,  like  ^  horn.  When 
mother  had  his  hair  cut,  he  went  down  to  the  foot,  and  he 
never  got  fairly  up  to  head  till  the  horn  grew  out  again." 

^'  A  case  in  point,"  said  "Woodbury.  "  Now,  you,  ladies, 
have  an  exactly  similar  habit.  Sewing,  I  have  heard,  is  often- 
times  this  soothing  agent,  but  knitting  is  the  great  feminine 
narcotic.  In  fact,  women  are  more  dependent  on  these  slight 
helps  to  thought — these  accompaniments  to  conversation — 
than  men.  There  are  few  who  can  sit  stUl  and  talk  a  whole 
evening,  without  having  their  hands  employed.  Can  you  not 
see  some  connecting  link  between  our  habits  ?" 

The  spinsters  were  silent.  The  speaker  had,  in  fact,  rather 
gone  beyond  their  depth,  with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Waldo, 
whose  sympathy  with  him  was  so  hearty  and  genial  that  she 
would  have  unhesitatingly  accepted  whatever  sentiments  he 
might  have  chosen  to  declare,  Hannah  Thurston  was  not  a 
little  perplexed.  She  scarcely  knew  whether  he  was  entirely 
sincere,  yet  his  views  were  so  novel  and  unexpected  that  she 
did  not  feel  prepared  to  answer  them.  Before  this  man's  ap- 
pearance in  Ptolemy,  her  course  had  been  chosen.  She  had 
taken  up,  weighed,  and  decided  for  herself  the  questions  of 
life :  a  period  of  unpleasant  doubt  and  hesitation  had  been 
solved  by  the  acceptance  of  (to  her)  great  and  important  theo- 
ries of  reform.  Was  a  new  and  more  difficult  field  of  doubt  to 
be  opened  now  ? — more  difficult,  because  the  distinctions  of  the 
sexes,  which  had  been  almost  bridged  over  in  her  intercourse 
with  reformers  of  kindred  views,  were  suddenly  separated  by 
a  new  gulf,  wider  than  the  old. 

Woodbury,  noticing  something  of  this  perplexity  in  her  comi 
tenance,  continued  in  a  lighter  tone :  "  At  least.  Miss  Thurs- 
ton, I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  a  physical  habit, 
tf  you  prefcT  to  call  it  so,  is  not  very  important  in  comparison 
with  those  vices  of  character  which  are  equally  common  and 
ttot  so  easy  to  eradicate.     Is  not  the  use  of  a  '  narcotic  drug' 


100  HAimAH  thubston: 

less  objectionable  than  the  systematic  habit  of  avarice,  or  enTf, 
or  hypocrisy  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed !"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  recollecting  his  generoun 
donation  to  the  Cimmerians,  "  and  I,  for  one,  will  not  prohibit 
the  tise  of  your  magical  ingredients.*' 

"  I  cannot  judge  for  you,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  said  Hannah 
rhurston,  feeling  that  some  response  was  expected ;  "  but  hare 
jrou  no  duty  towards  those  who  may  be  encouraged  in  tlie 
(Same  habit,  to  their  certain  injury,  by  your  example  ?" 

"There,  Miss  Thurston,  you  touch  a  question  rather  too 
rague  to  enter  practically  into  one's  life.  After  accepting,  in 
its  fullest  sense,  the  Christian  obligation  of  duty  towards  our 
fellow-men,  there  must  be  a  certain  latitude  allowed  for  indi- 
vidual tastes  and  likings.  Else  we  should  all  be  slaves  to  each 
other's  idiosyncrasies,  and  one  perverted  or  abnormal  trait 
might  suppress  the  healthy  intellectual  needs  of  an  entire  com- 
munity. Must  we  cease  to  talk,  for  example,  because  there  is 
scarcely  a  wholesome  truth  which,  offered  in  a  certain  way, 
might  not  operate  as  poison  to  some  peculiarly  constituted 
mind  ?  Would  you  cease  to  assert  an  earnest  conviction  from 
the  knowledge  that  there  were  persons  unfitted  to  receive 
it?" 

"I  do  not  think  the  analogy  is  quite  correct,"  she  answered, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  "because  you  cannot  escape  the  re- 
cognition of  a  truth,  when  it  has  once  found  access  to  your 
mind.  A  habit,  which  you  can  take  up  or  leave  off  at  will,  is 
a  very  different  thing." 

"Perhaps,  then,"  said  Woodbury,  who  perceived" by  the 
rismg  shade  on  Mrs.  Waldo's  smooth  brow  that  it  was  time  to 
end  the  discussion,  "I  had  best  plead  guilty,  at  once,  to  being 
■omething  of  an  Epicurean  in  my  philosophy.  I  am  still  too 
fpach  of  an  Oriental  to  be  indifferent  to  slight  material  com- 
forts." 

"In  consideration  of  your  hospitality,"  interposed  Mra 
Waldo,  brightening  up,  "  the  Sewing  Union  will  not  judgi 
you  very  severely.     Is  it  not  so.  Miss  Clancy  ?" 


A    8T0RT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  101 

"Well — reaUy — oh  no,  we  are  under  obligations  to  Mr. 
Woodbury ;"  said  the  spinster,  thus  unexpectedly  appealed  to, 
and  scarcely  knowing  how  to  reply. 

"Our  community  have  reason  to  congratulate  themselves, 
Sir,"  here  broke  in  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder,  who  had  entered 
the  library  in  time  to  hear  the  last  words. 

\\roodbury  bowed  dryly  and  turned  away. 

Soon  afterwards,  the  sound  of  sleigh-bells  in  front  of  the 
house  announced  the  first  departures.  The  company  became 
thinner  by  slow  degrees,  however,  for  the  young  gentlemen 
and  ladies  had  found  the  large  parlor  of  Lakeside  full  of  con- 
venient nooks,  which  facilitated  their  habit  of  breaking  into 
Utile  groups,  and  were  having  such  agreeable  conversation  that 
they  would  probably  have  remained  until  the  small  hours,  but 
for  the  admonitions  of  the  older  folks.  Among  the  earliest  to 
leave  were  the  Merryfields,  taking  with  them  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton and  Miss  Dilworth,  greatly  to  Bute's  regret.  The  latter, 
unable  to  detect  any  signs  of  peculiar  intimacy  between  Seth 
Wattles  and  the  little  seamstress,  became  so  imdisguised  in  his 
fondness  for  her  society  as  to  attract,  at  last,  Mrs.  Babb's  at- 
tention. The  grim  housekeeper  had  a  vnlture's  beak  for 
scenting  prey  of  this  kind.  While  she  assisted  Mrs.  Styles  to 
find  her  "  Things,"  in  the  bedroom  np-stairs,  she  steadfastly 
kept  one  eye  on  the  snowy  front  yard,  down  which  the  Merry- 
field  party  were  moving.  Bute,  as  she  anticipated,  was  hover- 
ing around  the  last  and  smallest  of  the  hooded  and  cloaked 
females.  He  put  out  his  arm  two  or  three  times,  as  if  to 
steady  her  steps.  They  had  nearly  reached  the  cutter,  where 
Patrick  was  holding  the  impatient  horses,  when  she  saw 
another  male  figure  hurry  down  the  walk.  There  was  a  sud- 
den tangle  among  the  dim  forms,  and  one  of  them,  she  noticodi 
plunged  full  length  into  a  bank  of  snow. 

Mrs.  Babb  was  so  agitated  by  this  tableau,  that  she  sud- 
denly threw  up  her  hands,  exclaiming :  "  Well,  if  that  don't 
beataU!" 

Mrs.  Styles,  carefully  muffled  for  the  journey  home,  had  just 


Ids  HAXNATI   THURSTON- J 

tamed  to  say  good-night  to  the  housekeeper,  and  stood  petrf 
fied,  unable  to  guess  whether  the  exclamation  was  one  of  ad 
miration  or  reproach.  She  slightly  started  back  before  the 
energy  with  which  it  was  uttered. 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  how  I  do  forgit  things  1"  said  Mrs.  Babb 
doming  to  her  senses.  "  But  you  know,  Ma'am,  when  you're 
not  used  to  havin'  company  for  a  while,  y'r  head  gits  bothered 
'Pears  to  me  I  haven't  been  so  flustered  for  years.  You're 
sure.  Ma'am,  you're  right  warm.  I  hope  you  won't  take  no 
cold,  goin'  home." 

The  scene  that  transpired  in  front  of  the  house  was  suffi 
cientiy  amusing.  Bute  Wilson,  as  deputy-host,  escorted  Miss 
Oil  worth  to  the  cutter,  and  was  delighted  that  the  slippery 
path  gave  him  at  least  one  opportunity  to  catch  her  around  the 
waist.  Hearing  rapid  footsteps  behind  him,  he  recognized 
Seth  Wattles  hard  upon  his  track,  and,  as  the  ungainly  tailor 
approached,  jostled  him  so  dexterously  that  he  was  tumbled 
headlong  into  a  pile  of  newly-shovelled  snow. 

"  Ah  1     Who  is  it  ?   Is  he  hurt  ?"  exclaimed  Miss  Dilworth. 

A  smothered  sound,  very  much  resembling  "  Damn !"  came 
from  the  fallen  individual. 

"  Let  me  help  you  up,"  said  Bute ;  "  you  pitched  ag'in  me 
like  an  ox.  Why,  Seth,  is  it  you?  You  ha'n't  tore  your 
trowsus,  nor  nothin',  have  you  ?" 

Seth,  overwhelmed  before  the  very  eyes  of  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton, whom  he  was  hastening  to  assist  into  the  cutter,  grum- 
bled :  "  No,  I'm  not  hurt."  Meantime,  Bute  had  said  good- 
night  to  the  party,  and  the  cutter  dashed  away. 

"  Well,  it's  one  comfort  that  you  can  always  mend  your  own 
rips,"  the  latter  remarked,  consolingly. 

Finally,  the  last  team  departed,  and  the  sound  of  the  bell 
diminished  into  a  faint,  fairy  sweetness,  as  if  struck  by  th 
frosty  arrows  of  the  starlight  from  the  crystals  of  the  snow. 
Lakeside  returned  to  more  than  its  wonted  silence  and  seclu* 
sion.     Woodbury  closed  the  door,  walked    into  his  library, 
Ughted  a  cigar  at  the  still  burning  piece   of  joss-stick,  and 


A   STOEY    OF    AAfERICAJJ   LIFE.  108 

flirew  himself  into  a  chair  before  the  fire.  Now  and  then 
puffing  &  delicate,  expanding  ring  of  smoke  from  his  lips,  he 
watched  it  gradually  break  and  dissolve,  while  reviewing,  in 
his  thoughts,  the  occurrences  of  the  evening.  They  were  not 
wholly  agi-eeable,  yet  the  least  so — Mr.  Grindle's  rude  attack,—* 
<vas  not  to  be  dismissed  from  the  mind  like  an  ordinary  pieci 
yf  vulgarity.  It  was  a  type,  he  thought,  of  the  manners  which 
self-constituted  teachers  of  morality  must  necessarily  assume 
in  a  community  where  intellect  is  characterized  by  activity 
rather  than  development.  Society,  in  its  broader  sense,  is  un 
known  to  these  people, — was  his  reflection.  In  the  absence  of 
cultivation,  they  are  ruled  by  popular  ideas:  Reforms  are 
mai  shalled  in,  as  reserve  corps,  behind  the  ranks  of  Religion, 
and  not  even  the  white  flag  of  a  neutral  is  recognized  in  the 
grand  crusade.  "Join  us  and  establish  your  respectability, 
or  resist  us  and  be  cut  down !"  is  the  cry. 

"  Yet" — he  mused  further — "  is  it  not  something  that,  in  a 
remote  place  like  this.  Ideas  have  vitality  and  power?  Ad- 
mitting that  the  channels  in  which  they  move  are  contracted, 
and  often  lead  in  false  directions,  must  they  not  rest  on  abasj' 
of  honest,  unselfish  aspiration  ?  The  vices  which  spring  fronj 
intolerance  and  vulgar  egotism  are  not  to  be  lightly  pardoned, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  they  do  not  corrupt  and  demoralize  like 
those  of  the  body.  One  must  respect  the  source,  while  resist- 
ing the  manifestation.  How  much  in  earnest  that  Quaker  girl 
seemed !  It  was  quite  a  serious  lecture  she  gave  me,  about 
such  a  trifle  as  this"  (pufling  an  immense  blue  ring  into  the 
air).  "  But  it  was  worth  taking  it,  to  see  how  she  enjoyed 
the  Sakontala.  She  certainly  possesses  taste,  and  no  doub* 
thinks  bet  ter  than  she  talks.  By  the  by,  I  quite  forgot  to 
give  her  the  translation  of  the  Megha-DutaP 

Springing  up,  Woodbury  found  the  volume,  after  some 
search,  and  soon  became  absorbed,  for  the  second  time,  in  its 
pages. 

"  Bute,"  said  Mrs.  Babb,  as  she  wiped  the  dishes,  and  care- 
fully put  away  the  odds  and  ends  of  the  refreshments ;  "  'Pears 


104  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

to  me  you  was  gallivantin'  round  that  Carrline  Dilwuth,  moxi 
than's  proper." 

Bute,  standing  with  legs  spread  out  and  back  to  the  fire, 
answered ,  as  he  turned  around  to  face  it,  whereby,  if  ht 
Wushed,  the  evidence  was  covered  by  the  glow  of  the  flame< 
"  Well,  she's  a  gay  little  creetur,  and  'taint  no  harm." 

"  I  dunno  about  that,"  sharply  rejoined  the  housekeeper. 
"  She's  a  cunnin',  conceited  chit,  and  '11  lead  you  by  the  nose. 
You're  just  fool  enough  to  be  captivated  by  a  piece  o'  wax- 
work and  curls.  It  makes  me  sick  to  look  at  'em.  Gals  used 
to  comb  their  hair  when  I  was  young.  I  don't  want  no  sich 
a  thing  as  she  is,  to  dance  at  my  buryin'." 

"  Oh,  Mother  Forty,  don't  you  go  oflF  about  it !"  said  Bute, 
deprecatingly.     "  I  ain't  married  to  her,  nor  likely  to  be." 

"  Married !  I  guess  not !  Time  enough  for  that  when  Z'm 
dead  and  gone.  Me  that  brought  you  up,  and  to  have  some- 
body put  over  my  head,  and  spendin'  all  your  earnins  on  fine 
clothes,  and  then  hankerin'  after  my  money.  But  it's  locked 
up,  safe  and  tight,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

*'  I'm  man-grown,  I  reckon,"  said  Bute,  stung  into  resistance 
by  this  attack,  "  and  if  I  choose  to  git  married,  some  day  or 
othei-,  I  don't  see  who  can  hinder  me.  It's  what  everybody 
else  does,  and  what  you've  done,  yourself." 

Bute  strode  off  to  bed,  and  the  housekeeper,  dtting  down 
before  the  fire,  indulged  in  the  rare  luxury  of  shedding  seve* 
ral  tears. 


A.  STOAT   OF   ATtfWRIfiAW  UFS.  lOS 


CHAPTER  VUL 

nr  WHICH  ME.    WOODBUBT  PAYS   AN   UNKXPECrTED  VISIT. 

Oir  the  following  Monday,  Woodbury  having  occasion  to 
visit  Ptolemy,  took  with  him  the  volume  of  Kalidasa,  intend- 
ing to  leave  it  at  the  cottage  of  the  widow  Thurston.  The 
day  was  mild  and  sunny,  and  the  appearance  of  the  plank 
sidewalk  so  inviting  to  the  feet,  that  he  sent  Bute  forward  to 
the  Ptolemy  House  with  the  cutter,  on  alighting  at  the  cot- 
tage gate. 

The  door  of  the  dwelling,  opening  to  the  north,  was  pro- 
tected by  a  small  outer  vestibule,  into  which  he  stepped, 
designing  simply  to  leave  the  book,  with  his  compliments,  and 
perhaps  a  visiting-card — though  the  latter  was  not  de  rigueur 
in  Ptolemy.  There  was  no  bell-pull ;  he  knocked,  gently  at 
first,  and  then  loudly,  but  no  one  answered.  Turning  the  knob 
of  the  door  he  found  it  open,  and  entered  a  narrow  little  hall, 
in  which  there  was  a  staircase  leading  to  the  upper  story,  and 
two  doors  on  the  left.  Knocking  again  at  the  first  of  these, 
an  answer  presently  came  from  the  further  room,  and  the 
summons,  "  Come  in  1"  was  repeated,  in  a  clear  though  weak 
▼oice. 

He  no  longer  hesitated,  but  advanced  into  the  sitting-room. 
Fiiend  Thurston,  sunning  herself  in  her  comfortable  chair, 
looked  around.  A  fleeting  expression  of  surprise  passed  over 
her  flice,  but  the  next  moment  she  stretched  out  her  hand, 
saying :   "  How  does  thee  do  ?" 

"  My  name  is  Woodbury,"  said  he,  as  he  took  it  respectfully 

u  J » 

r.* 


106  UAJsrsJiB  thusston: 

"  I  thought  it  must  be  thee,"  she  interrnpted.  "  Hannah 
described  thy  looks  to  me.    Won't  thoe  sit  down  ?" 

"  I  have  only  called  to  leave  a  book  for  your  daughter,  and 
vrill  not  disturb  you." 

"Thee  won't  disturb  me.  I  feel  all  the  better  for  a  liltle 
tttlK  now  and  then,  and  would  be  glad  if  thee  could  sit  and  chat 
awhile.  Thee's  just  about  the  age  my  little  Richard  would 
have  been  if  he  had  lived." 

Thus  kindly  invited,  Woodbury  took  a  seat.  His  eye  ap 
preciated,  at  a  glance,  the  plainness,  the  taste,  and  the  cozy 
comfort  of  the  apartment,  betraying  in  every  detail,  the  touches 
of  a  woman's  hand.  Friend  Thurston's  face  attracted  and 
interested  him.  In  spite  of  her  years,  it  still  bore  the  traces 
of  former  beauty,  and  its  settled  calm  of  resignation  recalled 
to  his  mind  the  expression  he  remembered  on  that  of  Mrs. 
Dennison.  Her  voice  was  unusually  clear  and  sweet,  and  the 
deliberate  evenness  of  her  enunciation, — so  different  from  the 
sharp,  irregular  tones  of  the  Ptolemy  ladies, — was  most  agree- 
able to  his  ear. 

"Hannah's  gone  out,"  she  resumed  ;  "  but  I  expect  her  back 
presently.  It's  kind  of  thee  to  bring  the  book  for  her.  Thee 
bears  no  malice,  I  see,  that  she  lectured  thee  a  Uttle.  Thee 
must  get  used  to  that,  if  thee  sees  much  of  our  people.  We 
are  called  upon  to  bear  testimony,  in  season  and  out  of  season, 
and  especially  towards  men  of  influence,  like  thee,  whose  re- 
sponsibilities are  the  greater." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  over-estimate  ray  influence,"  Woodbury 
replied ;  "  but  I  am  glad  you  do  not  suppose  that  I  could 
bear  malice  on  account  of  a  frank  expression  of  opinion. 
Every  man  has  his  responsibilities,  I  am  aware,  but  our  ideaa 
v)f  duty  sometimes  differ." 

"Thee's  right  there,"  said  the  old  lady;  "and  peihaps  we 
ought  not  to  ask  more  than  that  the  truth  be  sought  for,  in  a 
sincere  spirit.  I  don't  think,  from  thy  face,  that  there  is  much 
of  stubborn  worldly  pride  in  thy  nature,  though  thee  belongi 
to  the  world,  as  we  Friends  say." 


A   STORY    OF    AMEEICAIT   LIFI.  10^ 

*  I  have  found  that  a  knowledge  of  the  world  cures  one  of 
unreasonable  pride.  The  more  I  mingle  with  men,  the  more  I 
find  reflections  of  myself,  which  better  enable  pie  to  estimate 
my  own  character." 

"If  thee  but  keeps  the  heart  pure,  the  Holy  Spirit  may 
come  to  thee  in  the  crowded  places,  even  as  The  Saviour  wai 
caught  up  from  the  midst  of  His  Disciples !"  she  exclaimed 
with  fervor.  Gazing  on  her  steady,  earnest  eyes,  Woodbury 
could  not  help  thinking  to  himself:  "The  daughter  cornea 
legitimately  by  her  traits." 

"  Can  thee  accustom  thyself  to  such  a  quiet  life  as  thee  leads 
now  ?"  she  asked ;  and  then  gazing  at  him,  continued,  as  if 
speaking  to  herself:  "  It  is  not  a  restless  fece.  Ah,  but  that  is 
not  always  a  sign  of  a  quiet  heart.  There  are  mysteries  in 
man,  past  finding  out,  or  only  discovered  when  it  is  too  late !" 

"  This  life  is  not  at  all  quiet,"  he  answered,  "  compared  with 
that  which  I  have  led  for  the  past  ten  or  twelve  years.  In  a 
foreign  country,  and  especially  within  the  tropics,  the  novelty 
of  the  surroundings  soon  wears  off,  and  one  day  is  so  exactly 
the  repetition  of  another,  that  we  almost  lose  our  count  of 
time.  It  seems  to  me,  now,  as  if  I  were  just  awaking  out  of  a 
long  sleep.  I  have  certainly  thought  more,  and  felt  more,  in 
these  three  months  than  in  as  many  years  abroad ;  for  I  had 
come  to  believe  that  the  world  was  standing  still,  while  now  I 
see  that  it  really  moves,  and  I  must  move  with  it." 

•'  I  like  to  hear  thee  say  that !"  exclaimed  the  widow,  turn- 
ing suddenly  towards  him,  with  a  bright,  friendly  interest  in 
her  face.  "Men  are  so  apt  to  be  satisfied  with  their  own  opin- 
ions— at  least,  when  they've  reached  thy  age.  Thee's  over 
thirty,  I  should  tliink  ?" 

*'  Thirty  six,"  Woodbury  respectfully  answered,  "  but  I  hop* 
I  shall  never  be  so  old  as  to  suppose,  like  the  counsellors  of 
Job,  that  wisdom  will  die  with  me." 

Tiie  widow  understood  his  allusion,  in  the  literal  sense 
which  Le  intended :  not  so  another  auditor.  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton, who  heard  the  last  words  as  she  entered  the  room,  at  once 


108  HANNAH    THURSTCSr: 

Buapected  a  hidden  sarcasm,  aimed  principally  at  herself.  The 
indirect  attacks  to  which  she  had  been  subjected, — especially 
from  persons  of  her  own  sex, — had  made  her  sensitive  and  sus 
picious.  Her  surprise  at  Woodbury's  presence  vanished  in  the 
spirit  of  angry  antagonism  which  suddenly  arose  within  her 
She  took  the  hand  he  frankly  oflFered,  with  a  mechanical  coli 
nesd  strangely  at  variance  with  her  flushed  cheeks  and  earnest 
eyes. 

"  I'm  glad  thee's  come,  Hannah,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  Friend 
Woodbury  has  been  kind  enough  to  bring  thee  a  book,  and 
I've  been  using  an  old  woman's  privilege,  to  make  his  acquain- 
tance.   He'll  not  take  it  amiss,  I'm  sure !" 

Woodbury  replied  with  a  frank  smile,  which  he  knew  she 
would  understand.  His  manner  towards  the  daughter,  how- 
ever, had  a  shade  of  formal  deference.  Something  told  him 
that  his  visit  was  not  altogether  welcome  to  her.  "  I  found 
the  translation  of  the  MeghorJDuta,  Miss  Thurston,"  he  said, 
"  and  have  called  to  leave  it,  on  my  way  to  the  village.  If  it 
interests  you,  I  shall  make  search  for  whatever  other  frag- 
ments of  Indian  Uterature  I  may  have." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  she  forced  herself  to  sayi 
mwardly  resolving,  that,  whether  interesting  or  not,  this  was 
the  first  and  last  book  she  would  receive  from  the  library  of 
Lakeside. 

"  It  is  really  kind  of  thee,"  interposed  the  widow ;  "  Hannah 
finds  few  books  here  in  Ptolemy  that  she  cares  to  read,  and  we 
cannot  afford  to  buy  many.  What  was  the  work,  Hannah, 
thee  spoke  of  the  other  night  ?" 

Thus  appealed  to,  the  daughter,  after  a  moment's  reluctance, 
answered:  "I  was  reading  to  mother  Carlyle's  Essay  on 
Groethe,  and  his  reference  to  '  Wilhelm  Meister'  excited  my 
curiosity.  I  believe  Carlyle  himself  translated  it,  and  therefore 
the  translation  must  be  nearly  equal  to  the  original." 

"  I  read  it  some  years  ago,  in  Calcutta,"  said  Woodbury, 
"but  I  only  retain  the  general  impression  which  it  left  upon 
my  mind.     It  seemed  to  me,  then,  a  singular  medley  of  wift 


A   STORY   OF   AMiBRICAlf  UFK.  lOd 

dom  and  weakness,  of  the  tenderest  imagination  and  lh« 
coarsest  reality.  But  I  have  no  copy,  at  present,  by  which  to 
lest  the  correctness  of  that  impression.  I  am  hot  a  very  criti 
I  al  reader,  as  you  will  soon  discover.  Miss  Thurston.  Do  yon 
like  Carlyle  ?" 

"  I  like  his  knowledge,  his  earnestness,  and  his  clear  insight 
into  characters  and  events,  though  I  cannot  always  adopt  hia 
conclusions.  His  thought,  however,  is  strong  and  vital,  and  it 
refreshes  and  stimulates  at  the  same  time.  I  am  afraid  he 
spoils  me  for  other  authors." 

*'Is  not  that,  in  itself  an  evidence  of  something  false  in  hia 
manner  ?  That  which  is  absolutely  greatest  or  truest  should 
not  weaken  our  delight  in  the  lower  forms  of  excellence.  Pe- 
culiarities of  style,  when  not  growing  naturally  out  of  the  sub- 
ject, seem  to  me  like  condiments,  which  disguise  the  natural 
flavor  of  the  dish  and  unfit  the  palate  to  enjoy  it.  Have  you 
ever  put  the  thought,  which  Carlyle  dresses  in  one  of  his 
solemn,  involved,  oracular  sentences,  into  the  Quaker  garb  of 
plain  English  ?" 

"No,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  somewhat  startled.  "I  con- 
fess," she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  the  idea  of  such  an  experi- 
ment is  not  agreeable  to  me.  I  cannot  coldly  dissect  an  au- 
thor whom  I  so  heartily  admire." 

Woodbury  smiled  very,  very  slightly,  but  her  quick  eye 
caught  and  retained  his  meaning.  "Then  I  will  not  dissect 
him  for  you,"  he  said;  "though  I  think  you  would  find  8 
pleasure  in  the  exercise  of  the  critical  faculty,  to  counter- 
balance the  loss  of  an  indiscriminate  admiration.  I  speak  foT 
myself,  however.  I  cannot  be  content  until  I  ascertain  the 
real  value  of  a  man  and  his  works,  though  a  hundred  pleasant 
illusions  are  wrecked  in  the  process.  I  am  slow  to  Jicknowl 
edge  or  worship  greatness,  since  I  have  seen  the  stuff  of  which 
many  idols  are  composed.  The  nearer  an  author  seems  to  re- 
6ect  my  own  views,  the  more  suspicious  I  am,  at  first,  of  hia 
influence  upon  me.  A  man  who  knows  how  to  see,  to  think, 
and  to  judge,  though  he  tuay  possess  but  an  average  intellect^ 


110  HANXAH  THURSTON: 

is  able  to  get  at  all  important  truths  himself,  without  taUng 
them  at  second-hand." 

There  was  no  assumption  of  superiority — not  the  slightest 
trace  of  intellectual  arrogance  in  Woodbury's  manner.  He 
jpoke  with  the  simple  frankness  of  a  man  who  was  utterly  un 
conscious  that  he  was  deaUng  crushing  blows  on  the  mental 
habits  of  his  listener — not  seeming  to  recognize,  even,  that 
they  were  different  from  his  own.  This  calmness,  so  unlike 
the  heat  and  zeal  with  which  other  men  were  accustomed  to 
discuss  questions  with  her,  disconcerted  and  silenced  Hannah 
Thurston.  He  never  singled  out  any  single  assertion  of  hers 
as  a  subject  of  dispute,  but  left  it  to  be  quietly  overwhelmed 
in  the  general  drift  of  his  words.  It  was  a  species  of  mental 
antagonism  for  which  she  was  not  prepared.  To  her  mother, 
who  judged  men  more  or  less  by  that  compound  of  snow  and 
fire  who  had  been  her  husband,  Woodbury's  manner  was  ex- 
ceedingly grateful.  She  perceived,  as  her  daughter  did  not, 
the  different  mental  complexion  of  the  sexes  ;  and  moreover, 
she  now  recognized,  in  him,  a  man  with  courage  enough  to 
know  the  world  without  bitterness  of  heart. 

"  I  thank  thee,"  said  she,  as  he  rose  to  leave  with  an  apology 
for  the  length  of  his  stay  ;  "  I  have  enjoyed  thy  visit.  Come 
again,  some  time,  if  thee  finds  it  pleasant  to  do  so.  I  see  thee 
can  take  a  friendly  word  in  a  friendly  way,  and  thee  may  be 
sure  that  I  won't  judge  thy  intentions  wrongly,  where  I  am 
led  to  think  differently." 

"  Thank  you,  Friend  Thurston  :  it  is  only  in  differing,  that 
we  learn.  I  hope  to  see  you  again."  He  took  the  widow'i 
ttffered  hand,  bowed  to  Hannah,  and  left  the  room. 

"Mother!"  exclaimed  the  latter,  as  she  heard  the  outer 
loor  close  behind  him,  "why  did  thee  ask  him  to  come 
again  ?" 

"  Why,  Hannah !  Thee  surprises  me.  It  is  right  to  bear 
testimony,  but  we  are  not  required  to  carry  it  so  far  as  that 
Has  thee  heard  any  thing  against  his  character  ?" 

"  No,  mother :  he  is  said  to  be  uoright  and  honorable,  but  I 


A   STORY   OF    AMERICAN  LIFS.  lU 

do  not  like  to  be  obliged  to  him  for  kindnesses,  when  he, 
no  doubt,  thinks  my  condemnation  of  his  habits  impertinent, — 
when,  I  know,  he  despises  and  sneers  at  my  vieVs !" 

"  Hannah,"  said  the  mother,  gravely,  "I  think  thee  does  him 
Injastice.  He  is  not  the  man  to  despise  thee,  or  any  one  who 
thinks  earnestly  and  labors  faithfully,  even  in  a  cause  he  cannot 
appreciate.  We  two  women,  living  alone  here,  or  only  seeing 
the  men  who  are  with  us  in  sympathy,  must  not  be  too  hasty 
to  judge.  Is  thee  not,  in  this  way,  committing  the  very  fault 
of  which  thee  accuses  him  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so,"  said  Hannah:  "I  doubt  whether  I  know  what 
ia  true."  She  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  The  volume  "Wood- 
bury left  behind,  caught  her  eye.  Taking  it  up,  she  turned 
over  the  leaves  listlessly,  but  soon  succumbed  to  the  tempta- 
tion and  read — read  until  the  fairy  pictures  of  the  Indian 
moonlight  grew  around  her,  as  the  Cloud  sailed  on,  over  jun- 
gle and  pagoda,  and  the  dance  of  maidens  on  the  marble  ter- 
races. 

Meanwhile,  Woodbury  having  transacted  his  business  and 
Bute  Wilson  his,  the  two  were  making  preparations  to  return 
to  Lakeside,  when  a  plump  figure,  crossing  the  beaten  snow- 
track  in  front  of  the  Ptolemy  House,  approached  them.  Even 
before  tne  thick  green  veil  was  thrown  back,  Woodbury  recog- 
'aized  the  fat  hand  which  withdrew  itself  from  a  worn  chinchil- 
la muff,  as  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Waldo.  Presently  her  round  dark 
eyes  shone  full  upon  him,  and  he  heard — what  everybody  in 
T*toleiny  liked  to  hear — the  subdued  trumpet  of  her  voice. 

"Justin  time  to  catch  you!"  she  laughed.  "How  do  you 
do,  Bute?  Will  you  call  at  the  parsonage,  Mr.  Woodbury? 
No  ?  Then  I  must  give  you  my  message  in  the  open  street 
is  anybody  near  ?  You  must  know  it's  a  secret."  After  hav- 
ing said  this  in  a  loud  tone,  she  lowered  her  voice:  "  Well,  I 
don't  mind  Bute  knowing  it :  Bute  is  not  a  leaky  pitcher,  Tra 
sure." 

"  I  reckon  Mr.  Max  knows  that,"  said  Arbutus,  with  a  broad 
laugh  dancing  in  his  blue  eyes. 


112  HANNAH   THUESTON: 

"  What  is  it  ?  Another  fail*  for  the  Cimmerians  ?  Or  il 
Miss  Eliza  Clancy  engaged  to  a  missionary  ?"  asked  Woodbury, 

"  Be  silent,  that  you  may  hear.    If  it  were  not  for  my  feet 

getting  cold,  I  \f  ould  be  a  quarter  of  an  hour  telling  you.    But 

I  must  hurry — there's  Mrs.  Bue  coming  out  of  her  yard,  and 

he  scents  a  secret  a  mile  oflE".     Well — it's  to  be  at  Merryfitld's 

on  Saturday  evening.     You  must  be  sure  to  come." 

"  What— the  Sewing  Union  ?" 

"  Bless  me  I    I  forgot.    No — Dyce  is  to  be  there." 

"  Dyce  ?" 

*  Yes.  They  don't  want  it  to  be  generally  known,  as  so  many 
would  go  out  of  mere  curiosity.  I  must  say,  between  us,  that 
is  my  only  reason.  Neither  you  nor  I  have  any  faith  in  it ;  but 
"Mrs.  Merryfield  says  she  will  be  glad  if  you  can  come." 

*'  First  tell  me  who  Dyce  is,  and  what  is  to  be  done,"  said 
Woodbury,  not  a  little  surprised.  The  expression  thereof 
was  instantly  transferred  to  Mrs.  Waldo's  face. 

"  Well — to  be  sure,  you're  as  ignorant  as  a  foreigner.  Bute 
knows,  I'll  be  bound.  Tell  him,  Bute,  on  the  way  home. 
Good-by !  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Bue  ?  I  was  just  telling 
Mr.  Woodbury  that  the  vessel  for  Madras" — and  the  remainder 
of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  the  departing  bells. 

"  Dyce  is  what  they  call  a  Mejum,"  explained  Bute,  as  they 
dashed  out  on  the  Anacreon  road :  "  Merryfields  believe  in  it. 
I  was  there  once't  when  they  made  the  dinner-table  jump  like 
a  wild  colt  Then  there's  sperut-raps,  as  they  call  'em,  but 
it's  not  o'  much  account  what  they  say.  One  of  'em  spoke  to 
me,  lettin'  on  to  be  my  father.  '  Arbutus,'  says  he  (they  spelt 
it  out), 'I'm  in  the  third  spere,  along  with  Jane.'  Ha!  hat 
and  my  mother's  name  was  Margaretta!  But  you'd  beito: 
see  it  for  yourself,  Mr.  Max.  Seein'  's  believin',  they  say, 
bat  you  won't  believe  more'n  you've  a  mind  to,  after  aU." 


A    STOST   OF   AMEBIOAlI^  LIFlE.  118 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SPrEITTJAIi  ANB   OTHBB  BAPPIKGS. 

Had  the  invitation  to  a  spiritual  sSance  been  given  by  smy 
oue  but  Mrs.  Waldo,  Woodbury  would  probably  have  felt  lit- 
tle inclination  to  attend.  The  Merryfields  alone,  with  their 
ambitious  sentiment  and  negative  intellect,  were  beginning  to 
be  tiresome  acquaintances,  now  that  the  revival  of  old  memo- 
ries was  exhausted ;  but  the  warm  heart  and  sound  brain  of 
that  one  woman  made  any  society  tolerable.  His  thoughts  re- 
verted to  Hannah  Thurston :  would  she  be  there  ?  Of  course : 
was  his  mental  reply — yet  she  certainly  could  not  share  in  the 
abominable  delusion.  Why  not,  after  all  ?  Her  quick,  eager 
intelligence,  too  proud  and  self-reliant  to  be  restrained  by  tra- 
ditional theories, — too  unbalanced,  from  the  want  of  contact 
with  equal  minds, — too  easily  moved  by  the  mere  utterance 
of  attractive  sentiment, — was  it  not,  rather,  the  soil  in  which 
these  delusions  grew  strong  and  dangerous?  He  would  go 
and  see. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  reluctance,  al- 
most of  shame  at  his  own  curiosity,  as  he  left  Lakeside.  The 
night  was  overcast,  with  a  raw,  moaning  wind  in  the  tree-tops, 
and  Bute  was  forced  to  drive  slowly,  feeling  rather  than  seeing 
the  beaten  tracks.  This  employment,  with  the  necessary  re- 
marks to  the  old  horse  Dick,  fully  occupied  his  attention. 
Finally,  however,  he  broke  silence  with : 

"  I  s'pose  they'll  have  Absalom  up  to-night  ?" 

"  What !  Do  they  go  so  far  as  that  ?  Can  they  really  be 
fieve  it  ?"     Woodbury  asked. 

"They  jest  do.    They  wa7it  to  b'lieve  it,  and  it  comes  easy 


J  J  4  HAITNAH  THURSTON  :     • 

If  brains  was  to  be  ground,  between  you  and  me,  neither  ol 
'em  would  bring  much  grist  to  the  mill.  I  don't  wonder  at 
her  so  much,  for  she  set  a  good  deal  of  store  by  Absalom,  and 
't  seems  natural,  you  know,  for  women  to  have  notions  o'  that 
kind." 

"  Are  there  many  persons  in  Ptolemy  who  believe  in  such 
things  ?" 

"Well — I  don't  hardly  think  there  be.  Leastways,  they 
don't  let  on.  There's  Seth  Wattles,  o'  course :  he's  fool  enough 
for  any  thing ;  and  I  guess  Lawyer  Tanner.  Ever  sence  Mr. 
Styles  preached  ag'in  'em,  it  a'n't  considered  jist  respectable. 
Infidel-like,  you  know." 

Woodbury  laughed.  "  Well,  Bute,"  said  he,  "  we  shall 
hardly  find  Mr.  Waldo  there  to-night,  if  that  is  the  case." 

"  He'll  be  there,  Mr.  Max,  if  she  is.  She'll  bring  him  clear, 
no  matter  what  folks  says.  Miss  Waldo's  a  wife  worth  bav- 
in'— not  but  what  he's  got  considerable  grit,  too.  He's  not 
strong  at  revivals,  but  he's  a  good  hand  at  holdin'  together  all 
he  gits." 

As  they  drove  up  the  lane  to  Merryfield's  farm-house,  all  was 
dark  and  silent.  The  shutters  were  closed,  and  there  was  no 
appearance  of  other  visitors  having  arrived.  At  the  noise  of 
the  bells,  however,  the  door  opened,  and  the  owner,  after  sum- 
raoning  his  hired  man  from  the  kitchen,  to  assist  Bute  in  tak- 
ing charge  of  the  horse,  waited  until  Woodbury  approached, 
in  order  to  help  him  off  with  his  overcoat.  "They  are  all 
here  that  are  likely  to  come,"  he  announced  in  a  whisper. 

James  Merryfield  was  a  man  of  fifty,  or  a  httle  more,  in 
whom  the  desire  to  be  a  reformer  had  been  excited  long  after 
he  had  reached  his  maturity  as  a  simple,  unpretending  farmer. 
The  fictitious  character  but  imperfectly  overlaid  the  natural 
one,  giving  him  an  uncertain,  hesitating  air.  .Indeed,  with  afi 
his  assertion  and  self-gratulation,  he  never  could  overcome  • 
secret  doubt  of  his  ability  to  play  the  new  part.  But  he  wai 
honest  and  sincerely  conscientious,  and  a  more  prominent  posi- 
tion than  he  would  have  assumed,  of  his  own  choice,  wb$ 


▲  STOBT  OP  AACEEICAN  LIFE.  116 

forced  upon  him  by  his  friends.  He  possessed  a  comfortable 
property,  and  they  were  well  aware  of  the  advantage  of  being 
represented  by  men  with  bases. 

His  frame  had  been  soundly  developed,  not  over-worn,  by 
labor  in  his  own  fields,  yet  he  was  awkward,  almost  shambling 
in  his  movements.  His  head  was  usually  held  on  the  left  side. 
Wi'i  a  straight  line  dropped  from  the  centre  of  his  bi'ow  would 
not  nearly  have  coincided  with  the  axis  of  his  nose.  The  large, 
irregular  mouth  expressed  both  the  honesty  and  the  weakness 
of  the  man.  His  voice,  always  nasal,  rose  into  a  shrill,  decla- 
matory monotone  when  he  became  excited — a  key  which  he 
continually  let  drop,  and  again  resumed,  in  disagreeable  fluc- 
tuations. Thus  Woodbury,  while  heartily  re'specting  his  char- 
acter, found  much  of  his  society  tiresome. 

His  wife,  Sarah,  who  was  six  or  seven  years  younger,  w»8 
one  of  those  women,  who,  without  the  power  of  thinking  for 
themselves,  have,  nevertheless,  a  singular  faculty  for  accepting 
the  thoughts  and  conclusions  of  others.  She  was  entirely  de- 
pendent on  two  or  three  chosen  leaders  in  the  various  "  Re- 
forms," without  the  slightest  suspicion  of  her  mental  serfdom. 
Every  new  phase  of  their  opinions  she  appropriated,  and 
reproduced  as  triumphantly  as  if  it  had  been  an  original  dis- 
covery. She  had,  in  fact,  no  intellectual  quality  except  a  tol- 
erable fluency  of  speech.  This,  alone,  gave  her  some  consider- 
ation in  her  special  circle,  and  kept  her  hesitating  husband  in 
the  background.  Both  had  been  touched  by  the  Hand  of  Pro- 
gress, rather  too  late  for  their  equilibrium.  They  had  reached 
the  transition  state,  it  is  true,  but  were  doomed  never  to  pass 
through  it,  and  attain  that  repose  which  is  as  possible  to  shal- 
low as  to  deep  waters. 

In  person  she  was  thin,  but  not  tall,  with  a  face  expressive 
of  passive  amiabUity,  slightly  relieved  by  dyspepsia.  The  pale, 
ttnhealthy  color  of  her  skin,  the  dulness  of  her  eyes,  and  the 
lustreless  hue  of  her  thin,  reddish-brown  hair,  hinted  at  a  sys- 
tem hopelessly  disordered  by  dietetic  experiments.  Her  chil- 
di-en  had  all  died  young,  with  the  exception  of  Absalom,  whc 


116  HANNAH  thubston: 

had  barely  reached  manhood,  when  the  care  of  his  health,  M 
Bute  said,  proved  too  great  a  burden  to  him. 

Woodbury  was  ushered,  not  into  the  parlor,"*but  into  the 
room  ordinarily  occupied  by  the  family.  A  single  candle  wai 
burning  on  the  table,  dimly  lighting  the  apartment.  Mnk 
Merry  field  came  forward  to  receive  her  guest,  followed  by  Mrt. 
Waldo^  who  said,  with  unusual  gravity :  "  You  are  in  time — 
we  were  just  about  to  commence." 

Seated  around  the  table  were  Hannah  Thurston,  Mr.  Waldo, 
Seth  Wattles,  Tanner,  the  lawyer,  and  a  cadaverous  stranger, 
who  could  be  no  other  than  Mr.  Dyce.  A  motion  of  his  hand 
dissuaded  the  company  from  rising,  and  they  gravely  bowed 
to  Woodbury  without  speaking.  Mr.  Dyce,  after  a  rapid 
glance  at  the  new-comer,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  table.  He 
was  a  middle-aged  man,  broad-shouldered  but  spare,  with  long, 
dark  hair,  sunken  cheeks,  and  eyes  in  which  smouldered  some 
powerful,  uncanny  magnetic  force. 

After  Woodbury  had  taken  his  seat  at  the  table,  and  Mr. 
Merry  field  had  closed  the  door,  the  medium  spoke,  in  a  low 
but  strong  voice : 

"  Take  away  the  candle." 

It  was  placed  upon  a  small  stand,  in  a  comer  of  the  room. 
"  Shall  I  put  it  out  ?"  asked  the  host. 

Mr.  Dyce  shook  his  head. 

Presently  a  succession  of  sharp,  crackling  raps  was  heard,  aa 
if  made  on  the  under  surface  of  the  table.  They  wandered 
about,  now  fainter,  now  stronger,  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
approached  Mrs.  Merryfield. 

"  It's  Absalom  !"  she  cried,  the  yearning  of  a  mother's  heart 
overleaping  the  course  of  experiment.  "  What  has  he  to  say 
to-night?" 

"  \Vill  the  spirit  communicate  through  the  alphabet  ?"  asked 
the  medium. 

Three  raps — "  Yes." 

Lettered  cards  were  laid  upon  the  table,  and  the  medium, 
eommeucing  at  A,  touched  them  in  succession  until  a  rap  an 


A   STOBY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFB.  lit 

Dotiuced  the  correct  letter.  This  was  wi-itten,  and  the  procefll 
repeated  until  the  entire  communication  was  obtained. 

"  /  have  been  teaching  my  sisters.  They  are  waiting  for 
m0  on  the  steps  of  the  temple.  Good-nighty  mother  T^ — was 
Absalom's  message. 

**  How  beautiful  I"  exclaimed  Seth  Wattles.  "  The  temple 
aaust  mean  the  future  life,  and  the  steps  are  the  successive 
ipheres.     Will  any  spii'it  communicate  with  me  ?" 

The  raps  ceased.  Mr.  Dyce  raised  his  head,  looked  around 
with  his  glow-worm  eyes,  and  asked :  "  Does  any  one  desire 
to  speak  with  a  relative  or  friend  ?  Does  any  one  feel  im- 
pressed with  the  presence  of  a  spirit  ?"  His  glance  rested  on 
Hannah  Thurston. 

"  I  would  like  to  ask,"  said  she,  as  the  others  remained  si- 
lent, "  whether  the  person  whose  name  is  in  my  mind,  has  any 
message  for  me." 

After  a  pause,  the  medium  shuddered,  stretched  out  his 
hands  upon  the  table,  with  the  fingers  rigidly  crooked,  lifted 
his  head,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  vacancy.  His  lips  scarcely 
seemed  to  move,  but  a  faint,  feminine  voice  came  from  his 
throat. 

^  I  am  in  a  distant  spAere,"  it  said,  "  engaged  in  the  labors 
I  began  while  on  earth.  I  bear  a  new  name^  for  the  promise 
of  that  which  I  once  had  isfuljiUedr 

Hannah  Thurston  said  nothing.  She  seemed  to  be  ponder- 
ing the  meaning  of  what  she  had  heard.  Mrs.  Waldo  turned 
to  Woodbury,  with  a  face  which  so  distinctly  said  to  him, 
without  words :  "  It's  awful  1"  that  he  answered  her,  in  a 
similar  way  :  "  Don't  be  afraid !" 

"Will  you  ask  a  question,  Mr.  Woodbury?"  said  the 
host. 

" I  have  no  objection,"  he  said,  in  a  serious  tone,  ''to  select 
ft  name,  as  Miss  Thurston  has  done,  and  let  the  answer  test 
from  what  spirit  it  comes." 

After  a  rapid  glance  at  the  speaker,  the  medium  piuihed 
pencil  and  papej'  across  the  table,  saying :  "  Write  the  name^ 


118  HANNAH  THimSTOV: 

fold  the  paper  so  that  no  one  can  see  it,  and  hold  it  in  jcm 
hand."  He  then  placed  one  elbow  on  the  table,  and  coveied 
his  face  with  his  hand,  the  fingers  slightly  separated. 

Woodbury  wrote — a  long  name,  it  seemed  to  be — and 
folded  the  paper  as  directed.  Some  wandering,  uncert-in 
raps  followed.  Communication  by  means  of  the  alphabet 
was  proposed  to  the  spirit,  without  a  response.  After  a 
snfiicient  pause  to  denote  refusal,  the  raps  commenced 
again. 

Mr.  Dyce  shuddered  several  times,  but  no  sound  proceeded 
from  his  mouth.  Suddenly  turning  towards  Woodbury  with 
set  eyes,  and  pointing  his  finger,  he  exclaimed :  "  He  is  stand* 
ing  behind  you !" 

The  others,  startled,  looked  towards  the  point  indicated,  and 
even  Woodbury  involuntarily  turned  his  head. 

"  I  see  him,"  continued  the  medium — "  a  dark  man,  not  of 
our  race.  He  wears  a  splendid  head-dress,  and  ornaments  of 
gold.  His  eyes  are  sad  and  his  lips  are  closed  :  he  is  permit- 
ted to  show  his  presence,  but  not  to  speak  to  you.  Now  he 
raises  both  hands  to  his  forehead,  and  disappears." 

"  Who  was  it  ?'*  asked  Mrs.  Waldo,  eagerly. 

Woodbury  silently  unfolded  the  paper,  and  handed  it  to  her. 
Even  Mr.  Dyce  could  not  entirely  conceal  his  curiosity  to  hear 
the  name. 

"  What  is  this!"  said  she.  "I  can  scarcely  read  it:  Bab- 
Baboo  Rugbutty  Churn  Chuckerbutty  I  It  is  certainly  no 
body's  name!" 

"  It  is  the  actual  name  of  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  in  Cal 
cutta,"  Woodbury  answered. 

"  A  Hindoo !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dyce,  with  a  triumphant  air, 
**  that  accounts  for  his  inability  to  use  the  alphabet." 

**  I  do  not  see  why  it  should,"  rejoined  Woodbury,  ''  unlesM 
he  has  forgotten  his  English  since  I  left  India." 

"He  did  speak  English,  then  ?"  several  asked. 

*'  Did,  and  still  does,  I  presume.  At  least,  he  was  not  dead, 
three  months  ago,"  he  answered,  so  quietly  and  gravely  thai 


A    STOfeT   OF   AMElUCAN   LrPE.  118 

Hone  of  the  company  (except,  perhaps,  the  medium)  supposed 
that  a  tnck  had  been  intended. 

"Not  dead!"  some  one  excl^med,  in  great  amazement. 
**  VV^hy  did  you  summon  him  ?" 

"  Because  I  did  not  wish  to  evoke  any  friend  or  relative 
whom  I  have  lost,  and  I  had  a  curiosity  to  ascertain  whether 
the  sp'rits  of  the  living  could  be  summoned,  as  well  as  those 
if  the  dead." 

There  was  a  blank  silence  for  a  few  moments.  Only  Bute, 
rho  had  stolen  into  the  room  and  taken  a  quiet  seat  in  one 
corner,  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  gave  an  audible  chuckle. 

Mr.  Dyce,  who  had  concealed  a  malignant  expression  under 
his  hand,  now  lifted  a  serene  face,  and  said,  in  a  solemn  voice : 
"The  living,  as  we  call  them,  cannot  usurp  the  powers  and 
privileges  of  those  who  have  entered  on  the  spiritual  life.  The 
spirit,  whose  name  was  written,  has  either  left  the  earth,  or 
that  of  another,  unconsciously  present  in  the  gentleman's  mind, 
has  presented  itself.*' 

The  believers  brightened  up.  How  simple  was  the  explana 
tion !  Tlie  mere  act  of  writing  the  name  of  one  Hindoo  had 
recalled  others  to  Mr.  Woodbury's  memory,  and  his  thoughts 
must  have  dwelt,  en  passant^ — probably  without  his  being  in 
the  least  aware  of  it,  so  rapid  is  mental  action, — on  some  other 
Hindoo  friend,  long  since  engaged  in  climbing  the  successive 
spheres.  In  vain  did  he  protest  against  having  received  even 
a  flying  visit  from  the  recollection  of  any  such  person.  Seth 
Wattles  triumphantly  asked:  "Are  you  always  aware  of 
Bvery  thing  that  passes  through  your  mind  ?" 

Mrs  Merryfield  repeated  a  question  she  had  heard  the  week 
before  ;  "  Can  you  always  pick  up  the  links  by  which  you  pass 
from  one  thought  to  another  ?" 

Her  husband  modestly  thrust  in  a  suggestion:  "Perhaps 
your  friend  Chuckereh-irn  is  now  among  the  spirits,  as  it 
were." 

.  Mr.  Dyce,  who  had  been  leaning  forward,  with  his  arms  un 
der  the  table,  during  these  remarks,  suddenly  lifted  his  huad, 


120  HAWNAH  THITESTON'' 

exclaiming :  "  He  has  come  back!" — which  produced  a  mometi 
tary  silence.  "Yes — I  cannot  refuse  you!"  he  added,  as  if 
addressing  the  spirit,  and  then  started  violently  from  his  seat, 
twisting  his  left  arm  as  if  it  had  received  a  severe  blow.  He 
dren  up  his  coat-sleeve,  which  was  broad  and  loose,  then  the 
sleeve  of  his  shirt,  and  displayed  a  sallow  arm,  upon  the  sldn 
of  which  were  some  red  marks,  somewhat  resembling  the  let- 
ters "R.  R."  In  a  few  moments,  however,  the  marks  faded 
away. 

"  His  initials  !     Who  can  it  be  ?"  said  Seth. 

"Rammohun  Roy!"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  betrayed,  ns  it 
almost  seemed,  into  a  temporary  belief  in  the  reiUty  of  the 
visitation. 

"  I  assure  you,"  Woodbury  answered,  "  that  nothmg  was 
further  from  my  thoughts  than  the  name  of  Rammohun  Roy, 
a  person  whom  I  never  saw.  If  I  wished  to  be  convinced 
that  these  phenomena  proceed  from  spirits,  I  should  select  some 
one  who  could  give  me  satisfactory  evidence  of  his  identity." 

"  The  skeptical  will  not  believe,  though  one  came  from 
heaven  to  convince  them,"  remarked  the  medium,  in  a  hollov 
tone. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence. 

"  My  friends,  do  not  disturb  the  atmosphere !"  cried  Mr. 
Merryfield ;  "  I  hope  we  shall  have  further  manifestations." 

A  loud  rap  on  the  table  near  him  seemed  to  be  intended  as  a 
reply. 

Mr.  Dyce's  hand,  after  a  few  nervous  jerks,  seized  the  pen- 
cil, and  wrote  rapidly  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  After  completing 
the  message  and  appending  the  signature  to  the  bottom,  he 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  fell  back  in  his  chair. 

Mr.  Merryfield  eagerly  grasped  the  paper.  "Ah !"  said  he, 
•*  it  is  my  friend  '*'  and  read  the  following : 

"  JBe  ye  not  weak  of  vision  to  perceive  the  coming  triumph 
of  Truth.  Even  though  she  creep  like  a  tortoise  in  the  race, 
while  Error  leaps  like  a  hare,  yet  shall  '■hejirst  reach  t^e  joal 


A   StORT    OF   AMERICAN   tIPE.  141 

l%e  light  from  the  spirit-ioorld  is  only  beginning  to  daicji  up- 
on  the  night  of  Earth,  "When  the  sun  shall  Hse,  only  the  owh 
und  hats  among  men  will  be  blind  to  its  rays.'  Then  the  per- 
fect day  of  Liberty  shall  fill  the  sky,  and  even  the  spheres  of 
tpirits  he  gladdened  by  reflections  from  the  realm  of  mortals  t 

"  Benjamin  Lundy." 

In  spite  of  certain  inaccuracies  in  the  spelling  of  this  me§- 
Bage,  the  reader's  face  brightened  with  satisfaction.  "  There !" 
he  exclaimed — "there  is  a  genuine  test!  No  one  but  the 
spirit  of  Lundy,  as  it  were,  could  have  written  those  words." 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Woodbury. 

*'  Why — why — the  foot  of  Hercules  sticks  out !"  said  Mr. 
Merryfield,  falling,  in  his  confusion,  from  the  lofty  strain. 
"  You  never  knowed  the  sainted  Lundy,  the  purest  and  most 
beautiful  spirit  of  this  age.  Those  are  his  very — yes,  he  would 
make  the  same  expressions,  as  it  were,  if  his  voice  could, — if 
he  were  still  in  the  flesh." 

Woodbiiry's  eyes,  mechanically,  wandered  to  Mrs.  Waldo 
and  Hannah  Thurston.  The  former  preserved  a  grave  face, 
but  a  smile,  perceptible  to  him  alone,  lurked  at  the  bottom  of 
her  eyes.  The  latter,  too  earnest  in  all  things  to  disguise  the 
expression  of  her  most  fleeting  emotions,  looked  annoyed  and 
uneasy.  Woodbury  determined  to  take  no  further  part  in  the 
proceedings — a  mental  conclusion  which  Mr.  Dyce  was  suffi- 
ciently clairvoyant  to  feel,  and  which  relieved  while  it  discon- 
certed him. 

Various  other  spirits  announced  their  presence,  but  their 
oommunications  became  somewhat  incoherent,  and  the  semi- 
believers  present  were  not  strengthened  by  the  evening's  ex- 
peiiments.  Mr.  Waldo,  in  answer  to  a  mental  question,  re- 
ceived the  following  message: 

*'  I  will  not  say  that  my  mind  dwelt  too  strongly  on  the 
»y7)ibols  by  lohich  Faith  is  expressed,  for  through  symbols  the 
Truth  was  made  clear  to  me.     There  are  many  paths.^  biU  thtcy 
all  have  the  sarue  endingP 
8 


192  HtNNAP    TUUESTOK: 

*»  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that.  Are  you  not  satisfied  t" 
asked  Seth  Wattlps. 

"  Not  quite.  I  had  expected  a  different  message  from  tho 
spirit  I  selected,"  said  Mr.  Waldo. 

"  Was  it  not  Beza  Ciramer?" 

"No!"  was  the  astonished  reply:  "I  was  thinking  of  a 
•chool-mate  and  friend,  who  took  passage  for  the  West  Indiei 
in  a  vessel  that  was  never  heard  of  afterwards." 

"We  must  not  forget,"  said  Mr.  Dyce,  "that  our  frieudft  in 
the  spirit-world  still  retain  their  independence.  You  may  send 
for  a  neighbor  to  come  and  see  you,  and  while  you  are  waiting 
for  him,  another  may  unexpectedly  step  in.  It  is  just  so  in  our 
intercourse  with  spirits :  we  cannot  control  them.  We  cannot 
say  to  one :  'come!'  and  to  another:  *goI'  We  must  abide 
their  pleasure,  in  faith  and  humility." 

Mr.  Waldo  said  nothing,  and  made  no  further  attempt  at 
conversation  with  his  lost  school-mate.  Seth  Wattles  summon- 
ed, in  succession,  the  spirits  of  Socrates,  Touissant  L'Ou\  ar- 
ture,  and  Mrs.  Hemans,  but  neither  of  them  was  inclined  to 
communicate  with  him. 

Alter  a  while,  some  one  remarked:  "Will  they  not  more 
j^alpably  manifest  themselves  ?" 

"  We  can  try,"  said  Mr.  Dyce. 

Mr.  Merryfield  thereupon  took  the  solitary  candle  into  an  ad- 
joining room.  As  the  shutters  were  closed,  the  apartment  was 
thus  left  in  complete  darkness.  The  guests  kept  their  seata 
around  the  table,  and  it  was  specially  enjoined  upon  them  not 
to  move.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  rustling  noises  were 
heard,  loud  raps  resounded  on  the  table,  which  was  several 
times  violently  lifted  and  let  down,  and  blows  were  dealt  at 
random  by  invisible  hands.  Those  who  were  so  fortunate  aa 
to  be  struck,  communicated  the  news  in  a  \yhisper  to  their 
aeighbors.  Presently,  also,  the  little  old-fashioned  piano, 
•tanding  on  one  side  of  the  room,  began  to  stir  its  rusty 
keys.  After  a  few  discordant  attempts  at  chords,  a  sin- 
gle hand    appeared  to  be   endeavoring    to   play  ^'- Days   0/ 


,1.   8T0EY   OF    AMERICAN   LIFB.  123 

Absence,''*  the  untuned  keys  making  the  melody  still  more 
dismal. 

It  was  enough  to  set  one's  teeth  on  edge,  but  Mrs.  Merry 
field  burst  into  tears.  "  Oh !"  she  cried,  "  it's  Angelina  her 
ielf !  She  was  taking  lessons,  and  had  just  got  that  far  when 
ihi  died." 

The  sounds  ceased,  and  light  was  restored  to  the  room.  Mr. 
D yce  was  leaning  on  the  table,  with  his  face  m  his  hands.  As 
he  Ufted  his  head,  a  large  dark  stain  appeared  under  his  right 
eye. 

"  Why,  what  has  happened  to  you  ?"  cried  Merryfield. 
"  Your  eye  is  quite  black !" 

.  The  medium,  whose  glance  happened  to  fall  upon  his  right 
hand,  closed  it  so  suddenly  that  the  gesture  would  have  at- 
tracted notice,  if  he  had  not  skilfully  merged  it  into  one  of  his 
convulsive  shudders.  A  rapid  flush  came  to  his  face,  and  pass- 
ed away,  leaving  it  yellower  than  before. 

"The  unfriendly  spirits  are  unusually  active  to-night,"  he 
finally  answered:  "They  are  perhaps  encouraged  by  the  pres- 
ence of  doubters  or  scoifers.  I  name  no  names.  I  received 
several  severe  blows  while  the  light  was  removed,  and  feel  ex- 
hausted by  the  struggles  I  have  undergone.  But  it  is  noth- 
ing. The  spirit  of  Paracelsus  will  visit  me  to-night,  and  re* 
move  the  traces  of  this  attack.  Had  the  atmosphere  been 
pure,  it  could  not  have  occurred.  But  some  who  are  her© 
present  are  yet  incapable  of  receiving  the  Truth,  and  their 
presence  clouds  the  divine  light  through  which  the  highest 
mai)ifestations  are  made." 

Woodbury  was  too  much  disgusted  to  answer.  His  eye  fell 
iipor  Bute,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  with  his  large  hand  cover- 
ng  Ilia  mouth,  and  his  face  scarlet. 

•'  I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  turning  to  the  medium,  "  that  I 

.  am  not  convinced  of  the  spiritual  character  of  these  phenomena. 

I  do  not  profess  to  explain  them,  but  neither  can  I  explain 

inucli  that  I  see  in  Nature,  daily;  and  1  do  not  perceive  the 

necessity  of  referring  them  at  once  to  supernatural    causesi 


124  HANK  AH   THURSTON  : 

By  such  an  assumption,  the  spiritual  world  is  degraded  in  on! 
eyes,  without,  in  ray  opinion,  any  increase  of  positive  truth, 
even  if  the  assumption  were  correct.  A  man  who  is  really  so 
blind  as  to  disbelieve  in  the  future  life,  would  not  be  converted 
by  any  thing  we  have  seen  here  to-night ;  while  for  us,  who  be" 
Ijeve,  the  phenomena  are  unnecessary." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Dyce.  "  You  do  not  appreciate 
the  divine  utterances  from  the  world  of  spirits  1  You  do  not 
recognize  the  new  and  glorious  Truths,  the  germs  of  a  more 
perfect  Creed !" 

"I  would  prefer,"  the  parson  mildly  answered,  "not  to  hear 
{he  word  '  divine'  so  applied.  No :  to  be  entirely  frank,  I  see 
nothing  new,  or  even  true,  in  comparison  with  the  old.  Eternal 
Truth." 

"  But,"  interrupted  Merryfield,  desperately,  seeing  the  bright 
assent  on  Hannah  Thurston's  face ;  "  do  you  not  believe  in 
Progress  ?  Have  we,  as  it  were,  exhausted — are  we  at  the 
end  of  truth  ?" 

"  Most  certainly  I  believe  in  the  forward  march  of  our  race. 
We  are  still  children  in  wisdom,  and  have  much  to  learn.  But 
let  me  ask,  my  friend,  do  you  not  believe  that  the  future  life  is 
an  immeasurable  advance  upon  this  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Merryfield. 

"Then,"  Mr,  Waldo  continued,  "  why  is  it  that  the  profess- 
ed communications  from  great  minds,  such  as  Socrates,  Luther 
or  the  Apostles  themselves,  are  below  the  expressions  of  even 
average  human  intellect  ?" 

The  believers  stared  at  each  other  in  dumb  amazement. 
The  coolness  with  which  the  parson  took  hold  of  and  trampled 
upon  their  gems  of  superhuman  wisdom,  was  hke  that  of  St. 
Boniface,  when  he  laid  the  axe  to  the  sacred  Hessian  oak. 
His  hearers,  like  the  Druids  on  that  occasion,  were  passive, 
from  the  sheer  impossibility  of  comprehending  the  sacrilegei 
Mr.  Dyce  shook  his  head  and  heaved  a  sigh  of  commiseration. 
Beth  Wattles  clasped  his  hands,  lifted  his  eyes,  and  muttered 
in  a  hoarse  voice:  "The  time  will  come."     Mrs.  Merryfield 


A    STORY   OF   AMJiEIGAN   LIFE.  12ft 

was  unable  to  recall  any  phrase  that  applied  to  the  case,  but 
wiped  her  eyes  for  the  third  time  since  the  mysterious  peifot 
mance  on  the  piano. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  however,  looked  at  her  husband  with  a  smile 
whicli  said  to  him :  "  I  knew  you  could  silence  them  wheueve. 
you  choose  to  show  your  strength."  Then,  rising,  she  added 
aload  :  "  Now  the  atmosphere  is  certainly  disturbed.  Let  ua 
come  back  to  our  present  existence,  which,  after  all,  is  very 
good,  when  one  has  health,  friends,  and  a  contented  spirit." 

Mr.  Merryfield  whispered  to  his  wife,  who  disappeared  in 
the  kitchen.  "  Don't  go  yet,"  he  said  to  his  guests,  who 
had  risen  from  the  table ;  "  we  must  warm  you,  before  you 
start." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  whiskey -punch  ?"  asked  Woodbury,  aside, 
of  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"  Hush !  The  very  suggestion  of  such  a  thing  would  ruin 
you,  if  it  were  known,"  she  replied. 

At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  Mrs.  Merryfield  reappeared, 
followed  by  a  negro  girl,  who  bore  several  steaming  plates  on 
a  japanned  tray.  They  proved  to  contain  slices  of  mince-pie, 
rechauffee.,  and  rather  palatable,  although  heavy,  in  the  absence 
of  brandy.  Mrs.  Merryfield,  during  the  day,  had  seriously 
thought  of  entertaining  her  guests  with  coffee ;  but  as  she  was 
thoroughly  convinced  of  the  deleterious  nature  of  the  bever- 
age, she  decided  that  it  would  be  no  less  criminal  to  furnish  it 
to  others  than  if  she  drank  it  herself  Consequently  they  re- 
ceived, instead,  glasses  of  hot  lemonade,  which,  by  an  associa- 
tion of  ideas,  almost  convinced  Woodbury,  in  spite  of  himself, 
hat  he  was  sufiering  under  an  attack  of  influenza. 

Mr.  Dyce,  who  adroitly  managed  to  keep  the  left  side  of 
his  face  towards  the  caudle,  ate  his  portion  with  great  relish. 
His  spiritual  office  being  ended  for  the  day,  he  returned  with 
avidity  to  the  things  of  this  world,  and  entered  into  a  defence 
of  animal  food,  addressed  to  Seth  Wattles,  who  was  inclined 
to  be  a  Vegetarian.  Indeed,  the  medium  dropped  hints  unfa- 
vorable to  the  Temperance  reform,  which  would  have  shocked 


1S6  HANNAU   TUUESTON  : 

some  of  his  hearers,  if  he  had  not  based  them,  like  the  most  ot 
his  opinions,  on  spiritual  communications. 

As  the  guests  were  putting  on  their  coats  and  cloaks  in  the 
hall,  Woodbury  overheard  Mrs.  Waldo,  furtively  saying  to  her 
spouse :  "  I  am  so  glad  you  spoke  your  mind." 

"  I  must  thank  you,  also,  Mr.  Waldo,"  said  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton. "  One  should  not  too  willingly  accept  any  thing  so  neW 
and  strange.  For  the  sake  of  the  truth  we  already  possess, 
it  is  right  to  be  cautious  " 

"  And  now  it  is  my  turn  to  thank  you,  Miss  Thurston,"  re- 
joined Woodbury,  gayly,  as  they  went  out  into  the  cool  night- 
air. 

She  understood  him.  For  one  instant  her  habitual  antagO' 
nism  asserted  itself,  but  she  conquered  it  by  a  strong  effort. 
The  night  hid  her  face,  and  her  voice  was  even-toned  and 
sweet  as  ever,  "as  she  answered*  "I  am  glad  there  is  one  point 
on  which  we  can  agree." 

"  Oh,  there  are  a  great  many,  I  assure  yon,"  he  exclaimed, 
with  a  lightness  whiclj,  she  knew  not  why,  struck  her  unpleas- 
antly :  *'  If  we  could  take  away  from  your  surplus  of  earnest- 
ness, to  complete  my  lack  of  it,  we  should  get  on  very  well 
togethei." 

"  Can  one  be  too  much  in  earnest  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Decidedly.  There  are  relative  values  in  ethics,  as  in  every 
thing  else.  You  would  not  pull  a  pink  with  the  same  serious 
application  of  strength  which  you  would  use,  to  wind  a  bucket 
out  of  a  well.     But  Mrs.  Waldo  waits :  good-night !" 

He  lifted  her  into  the  cutter,  the  horses  started,  and  she  was 
off  before  she  had  fairly  time  to  consider  what  he  meant.  Bat 
Ihe  words  were  too  singular  to  be  forgotten. 

Bute  now  made  his  appearance,  and  Woodbury  took  his  seat 
in  the  cutter  beside  him.  Dick  was  another  horse  when  hii 
head  was  pointed  towards  home,  and  the  bells  danced  to  a 
lively  measure  as  they  passed  up  the  -valley  in  the  face  of  the 
wind.  The  rising  moon  struggled  through  clouds,  and  but  two 
or  three  stars  were  visible  overhead.     The  night  was  weird 


A    STORV   OP   AMIIBICAN   LIFE.  VII 

and  sad,  and  in  its  presence  the  trials  and  the  indulgencies  of 
dayHght  became  indistinct  dreams.  Woodbury  recalled,  with 
a  feeling  of  intense  repugnance,  the  occurrences  of  the  even- 
ing. "  Better,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  a  home  for  the  soul  with- 
in the  volcanic  rings  of  yonder  barren  moon,  with  no  more  than 
the  privacy  it  may  command  in  this  life,  than  to  be  placed  on 
the  fairest  star  of  the  universe,  and  be  held  at  the  beck  and 
call  of  every  mean  mind  that  dares  to  juggle  with  sano- 
tities." 

Plunged  in  these  meditations,  he  did  not  at  first  notice  the 
short,  half-suppressed  spirts  of  laughter  into  which  Bute  occa 
sionally  broke.  The  latter,  at  last,  imable  to  enjoy  his  fun 
alone,  said : 

"  When  you  looked  at  me,  Mr.  Max.,  I  thought  I'd  ha' 
bust.     I  never  was  so  nigh  givin'  way  in  my  life." 

"  What  was  it  ?"  asked  Woodbury. 

"  Well,  you  musn't  say  nothin'.    J  done  it." 

"You!" 

"  Yes,  ha !  ha  !    But  he's  no  idee  who  it  was." 

"  Did  you  strike  him  in  the  face,  Bute  ?" 

"  Lord,  no !  He  done  all  the  strikin'  there  was  done  to-night 
I  fixed  it  better  'n  that.  You  see  I  suspicioned  they'd  git  Ange- 
line's  spirut  to  playin'  on  the  pyanna,  like  th'  other  time  I  was 
there.  Thinks  I,  I've  a  notion  how  it's  done,  and  if  I'm  right, 
it's  easy  to  show  it.  So,  afore  comin'  into  the  settin'-roora,  I 
jist  went  through  the  kitchen,  and  stood  awhile  on  the  hearth, 
to  warm  my  feet,  like.  I  run  one  arm  up  the  chimbley,  when 
nobody  was  lookiu',  and  rubbed  my  hand  full  o'  soft  sut. 
Then  I  set  in  the  corner,  and  held  my  arm  behind  me  over  the 
back  o'  the  cheer,  till  the  candle  was  took  out.  Now's  the 
time,  thinks  I,  and  quick  as  wink  I  slips  up  to  the  pyanna — ^i 
knowed  if  they'd  heerd  me  they'd  think  it  was  a  spirut — and 
rubbed  my  sutty  hand  very  quietly  over  the  black  keys.  I 
didn't  dare  to  bear  on,  but,  thinks  I,  some  '11  come  oiF,  and  he  'U 
be  sure  to  git  it  on  his  hands.  Do  you  see  it,  Mr.  Max.  ? 
When  the  light  come  back,  there  he  was,  solemn  enough,  with 


128  HAI^AH   THURSTON: 

a  black  eye,  ha !  ha !  I  couldn't  git  a  sight  of  his  hand, 
though ;  he  shet  his  fist  and  kep'  it  under  the  table." 

Woodbury  at  first  laughed  heartily,  but  his  amusement  soon 
gave  place  to  indignation  at  the  swindle.  "  Why  did  you  not 
expose  the  fellow  ?"  he  asked  Bute. 

"  Oh,  what's  the  use  I  Them  that  believes  wouldn't  believe 
any  the  less,  if  they'd  seen  him  play  the  pyanna  with  their  own 
eyes.  Tve  no  notion  o'  runnin'  my  head  into  a  hornet's  nest, 
and  gittin'  well  stung,  and  no  honey  to  show  for  my  pains." 

With  which  sage  observation  Bute  drove  up  to  the  door  ol 
Lakeside. 


A   STOttY    OF    AMKiaCAX    LIFE.  129 


CHAPTER    X. 

ns    WHICH    WB   HSAB   A   DIVERTING   STOBT. 

TnE  winter  wore  away,  slowly  to  the  inhabitants  of  Ptol- 
emy, rapidly  and  agreeably  to  the  owner  of  Lakeside,  who 
drank  life,  activity,  and  cheerfulness  from  the  steady  cold. 
Every  day,  Avhile  the  snow  lasted,  his  cutter  was  to  be  seen  on 
the  roads.  Dick  proved  entirely  inadequate  to  his  needs  and 
was  turned  over  to  Bute's  use,  while  the  fastest  horse  out  of 
Fairlamb's  livery-stable  in  Ptolemy  took  his  place.  Wood 
bury's  drives  extended  not  only  to  Anacreon  and  the  neighbor- 
ing village  of  Nero  Corners — a  queer  little  place,  stuck  out  of 
sight  in  a  hollow  of  the  upland, — ^but  frequently  as  far  as  Tibe- 
rius, which,  being  situated  on  a  branch  of  the  New  York  Cen- 
tral, considered  itself  quite  metropolitan.  The  inhabitants  took 
especial  delight  in  its  two  principal  streets,  wherein  the  houses 
were  jammed  togetlier  as  compactly  as  possible,  and  huge 
brick  blocks,  with  cornices  and  window-caps  of  cast-iron,  star- 
ted up  pompously  between  one-story  buildings  of  wood,  saying 
to  the  country  people,  on  market  days :  "  Behold,  a  city !" 

The  farmers  around  Ptolemy,  who  believe  that  every  man 
born  in  a  large  town,  and  ignorant  of  either  farming  or  some 
mechanical  employment,  must  necessarily  be  soft,  weak,  and 
effeminate  in  his  nature — "  spoiled,"  so  far  as  true  masculine 
grit  is  concerned — were  not  a  little  astonished  at  Woodbury's 
activity  and  powers  of  endurance.  Moi-e  than  once  some  of 
them  had  met  him,  sheeted  with  snow  and  driving  in  the  teeth 
of  a  furious  north-eastern  storm,  yet  singing  merrily  to  himself 
as  if  he  liked  it  all !  It  was  noticed,  too,  that  a  vigorous  red 
was  driving  away  the  tan  of  Indian  surameis  from  his  cbeeka 
6*  ^ 


130  UANNAH   THDESTON  . 

that  a  listless,  iudiflferent  expression,  which  at  first  made  thea 
say  "  he  has  sleepy  eyes,"  had  vanished  from  those  organs,  as 
if  a  veil  had  been  withdrawn,  leaving  them  clear  and  keen, 
with  a  cheerful,  wide-awake  nature  looking  out.  Thus, 
although  his  habitual  repose  of  manner  remained,  it  no  longer 
unpressed  the  people  as  something  foreign  and  uncomfortable ; 
and  the  general  feeling  towards  him,  in  spite  of  the  attacks  of 
Mr.  Grindle  and  the  insinuations  of  Seth  Wattles,  was  respect- 
ful and  friendly.  Bute,  who  was  a  confirmed  favorite  among 
the  people,  would  suffer  no  word  to  be  said  against  his  master, 
and  went  so  far  as  to  take  a  respectable  man  by  the  throat,  in 
the  oyster-cellar  under  the  Ptolemy  House,  for  speaking  of 
him  as  a  "  stuck-up  aristocrat." 

That  part  of  a  man's  life  which  springs  from  his  physical 
temperament  seemed,  in  Woodbury's  case,  to  have  stood  still 
during  his  sojourn  abroad.  After  the  tropical  torpidity  of  his 
system  had  been  shaken  off,  he  went  back  ten  years  in  the 
sudden  refreshment  of  his  sensations.  The  delicate  cuticle  of 
youth,  penetrated  with  the  finer  nerves  which  acknowledge 
every  touch  of  matui'ing  existence  as  a  pleasure,  was  partially 
restored.  The  sadness  engendered  by  hard  experience,  the 
scorn  which  the  encounter  witii  human  meanness  and  selfish- 
ness left  behind,  the  half  contemptuous  pity  wliich  the  pride 
of  shallow  brains  provoked — these  were  features  of  his  nature, 
which,  injpressed  while  it  was  yet  plastic,  were  now  too  firmly 
set  to  be  erased ;  but  they  were  overlaid  for  the  time  by  the 
joyous  rusli  of  physical  sensation.  His  manner  lost  that  first 
gravity  which  suggested  itself  even  in  his  most  relaxed  and 
playful  moods  ;  he  became  gay,  brilliant,  and  bantering,  and 
was  the  life  of  the  circles  in  which  he  moved.  As  the  owner 
of  Lakeside,  all  circles,  of  course,  were  open  to  him ;  but  he 
soon  discovered  the  most  congenial  society  and  selected  it, 
without  regard  to  the  distinctions  which  prevailed  in  Ptolemy. 
As  no  standard  of  merely  social  value  was  recognized,  the 
Uttle  community  was  divided  according  to  the  wealth,  or  the 
religious  views  of  its  members  ;  whence  arose  those  jealousiei 


A   STOUT    OF    AMERICAN  IJFK.  131 

and  rivalries  which  the  Great  Sewing-XTnion  had  fbr  a  time 
Buppressed.  Woodbury  soon  perceived  this.foct,  and  deter- 
mined, at  the  start,  to  preserve  his  social  independence. 
Neither  of  the  circles  could  complain  of  being  neglected,  yet 
neither  could  claim  exclusive  possession  of  him.  He  took  tea 
twice  in  one  week  witli  the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles,  and  the  heart 
of  Miss  Legraud,  the  clergyman's  sister-in-law,  began  to  be 
agitated  by  a  vague  hope  ;  but,  in  a  few  days  afterwards,  he 
accompanied  the  Misses  Smith  (Seventh-day  Baptists)  on  a 
sleighing  party  to  Atauga  City,  and  was  seen,  on  the  follow 
ing  Sunday,  to  enter  the  Cimmerian  church. 

Between  the  Waldos  and  himself,  a  sincere  friendship  had 
grown  up.  The  parson  and  his  wife  possessed,  in  common 
with  Woodbury,  a  basis  of  healthy  conmion  sense,  which,  in 
spite  of  the  stubborn  isolation  of  their  sect,  made  them  tole- 
rant. They  had  no  idea  of  turning  life  into  a  debating-school, 
and  could  hear  adverse  opinions  incidentally  dropped,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  without  considering  that  each  word 
was  thrown  down  as  a  gage  of  combat.  Hence,  Woodbury 
found  no  pleasanter  house  than  theirs,  in  all  his  rounds,  and  the 
frank  way  in  which  he  occasionally  claimed  their  scanty  hospi- 
tality was  so  much  like  that  of  a  brot'aer,  that  the  parson  de- 
clared to  his  wife,  it  expressed  his  idea  of  Christian  society.  1 
am  afraid  I  shall  injure  Mr.  Waldo's"  reputation,  but  I  am 
bound  to  state  that  Woodbury  was  the  last  man  whom  he 
would  have  attempted  to  secure,  as  a  proselyte. 

One  evening  in  March,  after  the  winter  had  begun  to  melt 
away  on  the  long  hill  sweeping  from  the  eastern  valley  around 
to  Lakeside,  a  little  party  accidentally  assembled  in  Mrs. 
Waldo's  parlor.  Since  the  proceeds  of  the  Fair  had  enabled 
her  to  cover  its  walls  with  a  cheap  green  paper,  and  to  substitute 
a  coarse  carpet  of  the  same  color  for  the  tattered  thing  which 
she  had  transferred  to  her  bed-room,  the  apartment  was  vastly 
improved.  The  horse-hair  sofa  and  chairs,  it  is  true,  had  per- 
formed a  great  deal  of  service,  but  they  were  able  to  do  it ; 
the  sheet-iron  stove  gave  out  a  comfortable  warmth  ;  and  the 


If 8  nAXif All  TTTURSTOW : 

one  treasure  of  the  piirsonage,  a  raelodcon,  which  did  tha 
duty  of  an  organ  on  Sundays,  was  in  tolerable  tune.  Hannah 
Thurston  contributed  a  vase  of  grasses,  exquisitely  arranged, 
which  obliged  Mrs.  Waldo  to  buy  a  plaster  bracket  from  an 
itinerant  Italian.  She  could  ill  afford  to  spare  the  half-dollar 
which  it  cost — and,  indeed,  most  of  the  women  in  her 
husband's  congregation  shook  their  heads  and  murmured: 
"  Vanity,  vanity !"  when  they  saw  it — but  a  little  self-denial  in 
her  housekeeping,  which  no  one  else  than  herself  ever  knew, 
reconciled  the  deed  to  her  conscience.  Woodbuiy  brought  to 
her  from  New  York  an  engraving  of  Ary  Scheffer's  "CLristuB 
Consolator,"  which  not  only  gave  her  great  delight,  but  was 
of  service  in  a  way  she  did  not  suspect.  It  hung  opposite  to 
the  grasses,  and  thus  thoroughly  counterbalanced  their  pre- 
sumed "  vanity,"  in  the  eyes  of  Cimmerian  visitors.  Indeed, 
they  were  not  sure  but  a  moral  effect  was  intended,  and  this 
uncertainty  stopped  the  remarks  which  might  otherwise  have 
spread  far  and  wide. 

The  party  in  Mrs.  Waldo's  parlor  was  assembled  by  acci- 
dent, we  have  said ;  but  not  entirely  so.  Hannah  Thurston 
had  been  invited  to  tea  by  the  hostess,  and  Woodbury  by  Mr. 
Waldo,  who  had  met  him  in  the  streets  of  Ptolemy.  This 
coincidence  was  unintentional,  although  not  unwelcome  to  the 
hosts,  who,  liking  both  their  guests  heartily,  could  not  account 
for  the  evident  prejudice  of  the  one  and  the  indifference  of 
the  other.  Mrs.  Waldo  had  long  since  given  up,  as  insane, 
her  first  hope  of  seeing  the  two  drawn  together  by  mutual 
magnetism ;  all  she  now  desired  was  to  establish  an  entente 
cordiale,  since  the  ente?He  cTamour  could  never  be.  On  this 
occasion,  the  parties  behaved  towards  each  other  with  such 
thorough  courtesy  and  propriety,  that,  had  Hannah  Thurston 
been  any  other  woman,  Mrs.  Waldo  would  have  suspected  the 
exisitnce  of  an  undying  enmity.  • . 

After  tea  Mr.  and  Mrs,  Merryfield  made  their  appearance, 
rhey  had  come  to  Ptolemy  to  attend  a  lecture  on  Temperance 
by  Abiram  Stokes,  a  noted  orator  of  the  cause,  who,  however, 


A    STORY    OP    AMERICAN   LIPK.  189 

felled  10  arrive.  Seth  Wattles  presently  followed,  apparentlj 
by  accident,  but  really  by  design.  He  had  ascertained  where 
Hannah  intended  to  pass  the  evening,  from  the  widow  Thurs- 
ton's  littlo  sei-vant-maid,  whom  he  waylaid  as  she  was  coming 
out  of  the  grocery-store,  and  did  not  scruple  to  thrust  himself 
apon  the  company.  His  self-complacency  was  a  little  dia- 
eurbed  by  the  sight  of  Woodbury,  whose  discomfiture,  during 
ihe  evening,  he  mentally  resolved  to  accomplish. 

His  victim,  however,  was  in  an  unusually  cheerful  mood,  and 
every  arrow  which  the  indignant  Seth  shot,  though  feathered 
to  the  barb  with  insinuation,  flew  wide  of  the  mark.  Wood- 
bury joined  in  denunciation  of  the  opium  traffic  ;  he  trampled 
on  the  vices  of  pride,  hypocrisy,  and  selfishness ;  he  abhorred 
intemperance,  hated  oppression,  and  glorified  liberty.  But  he 
continually  brought  the  conversation  back  to  its  key-note  of 
playful  humor,  cordially  seconded  by  Mrs.  Waldo,  whose  only 
fault,  in  the  eyes  of  hev  reforming  friends,  was  that  she  had 
no  taste  for  serious  discussion.  Seth,  finally,  having  exhausted 
his  quiver,  began  to  declaim  against  the  corrupting  influence 
of  cities. 

"  It  is  time  that  hackneyed  superstition  were  given  up,"  said 
Woodbury.  "Everybody  repeats,  after  poor  old  Cowper, 
'  God  made  the  country  and  man  made  the  town ;'  therefore, 
one  is  divine,  and  the  other — the  opposite.  As  if  God  had  no 
part  in  that  human  brain  and  those  human  afiections,  out  of 
which  spring  Art,  and  Discovery,  and  the  varied  fabric  of 
Society  !  As  if  man  had  no  part  in  making  Nature  attractive 
and  enjoyable  to  us !" 

"  Cities  are  created  by  the  selfishness  of  man,"  cried  Seth,  i 
little  pompously. 

"And  farms,  I  suppose,  are  created  entirely  by  bene^o 
lence!"  retorted  Woodbury,  laughing,  "You  Reformers 
ha\e  the  least  cause  to  complain  of  cities.  You  got  your 
Temperance  from  Baltimore,  and  your  Abolition  from  Bos- 
ton." 

"That   proves  nothiug:    there  was  one  just  man    even  Ld 


1^4  HANNAH  THURSTOK: 

Sodom !"  exclaimed  Seth,  determined  not  to  be  put  doini 
"But,  of  course,  people  who  think  fashion  more  iraportanl 
than  principle^  will  always  admire  a  city  life." 

"Yes,  it  is  Fashion,"  added  Mrs.  Merryfield,  who  was  un- 
usually dyspeptic  that  evening — "it  is  Fashion  that  has  im- 
^ded  the  cause  of  woman.  Fashion  is  the  fetters  which 
cliains  her  down  as  the  slave  of  man.  How  can  she  know  her 
rights,  when  she  is  educated,  as  a  child,  to  believe  that  Dresi 
is  her  Doom  ?" 

"  If  you  Avere  familiar  with  cities,  Mrs.  Merryfield,"  said 
Woodbury,  "  you  would  find  that  they  admit  of  the  nearest 
approach  to  social  independence.  Fashion  is  just  as  rigid  in 
Ptolemy  as  it  is  in  New  York ;  among  the  Hottentots  or  Dig- 
ger Indians,  far  more  so.  Not  only  that,  but  Fashion  is 
actually  necessary  to  keep  us  from  falling  into  chaos.  Suppose 
there  were  no  such  thing,  and  you  and  Mr.  Merryfield  lived  in 
tents,  dressed  in  oriental  costume,  while  Mr.  Waldo  preached 
in  feathers  and  war-paint,  to  Miss  Thurston,  in  a  complete  suit 
of  steel  armor,  Mr.  Wattles  with  Chinese  pig-tail  and  fan,  and 
myself  in  bag- wig,  powder,  and  ruffles !" 

The  hearty  laughter  Avhich  followed  this  suggestion  did  not 
silence  Seth.  "It  is  not  a  subject  for  frivolity,"  he  exclaimed; 
"  you  cannot  deny  that  Fashion  corrupts  the  heart  and  de- 
stroys all  the  better  impulses  of  human  nature." 

"  I  do  deny  it,"  replied  Woodbury,  whose  unusual  patience 
was  nearly  exhausted.  "  All  sweeping,  undiscriminating  asser- 
tions contain  much  that  is  both  false  and  absurd,  and  yours  is 
no  exception.  The  foundation  of  character  lies  deeper  than 
external  customs.  The  honor  of  man,  the  virtue  of  woman, 
the  pure  humanity  of  both,  is  not  afiected  by  the  cut  or  colors 
of  their  dress.  If  the  race  is  so  easily  corrupted  as  one  might 
mfer  from  your  assertions,  how  can  you  ever  expect  to  suc- 
ceed with  your  plans  of  reform  ?" 

"I  should  not  expect  it,"  interposed  Mrs.  Merryfield,  "if  I 
had  to  dei)end  on  the  women  tliat  worships  the  Moloch  o/ 
fashion.     Why,  if  I  was  the  noblest  and  wisest  of  my  sex, 


A   8T0ET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  186 

they'd   turn  up  their  noses  at  me,  unless  I  lived  in  Fiftt 
Avenue." 

A  sweet,  serious  smile,  betraying  that  breath  of  dried  roses 
which  greets  us  as  we  open  some  forgotten  volume  of  the 
past,  stole  over  Woodbury's  face.  His  voice,  also,  when 
he  spoke,  betrayed  the  change.  Some  memory,  suddenly 
awakened,  had  banished  the  present  controversy  from  his 
mind. 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  he,  slowly,  addressing  Mrs.  Waldo, 
rather  than  the  speaker,  "  how  a  new  life,  like  mine  in  India, 
can  make  one  forget  what  has  gone  before  it.  In  this  mo- 
ment, a  curious  episode  of  my  youth  suddenly  comes  back  to 
me,  distinct  as  life,  and  I  wonder  how  it  could  ever  have  been 
forgotten.  Shall  I  give  you  a  story  in  place  of  an  argument, 
Mrs.  Merryfield  ?  Perhaps  it  may  answer  for  both.  But  if 
you  can't  accept  it  in  that  light,  you  may  have  the  last  word." 

"  Pray  tell  us,  by  all  means !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo. 

Woodbury  looked  around.  Hannah  Thurston,  meeting  his 
questioning  glance,  silently  nodded.  Seth  was  sullen  and  gave 
no  sign,  Mrs.  Merryfield  answered,  "  Fd  like  to  hear  it,  well 
enough,  I'm  sure,"  whereto  her  husband  added :  "  So  would 
I,  as — as  it  were."     Thus  encouraged,  Woodbury  began : 

"  It  happened  after  my  father's  death,  and  before  I  left  New 
York  for  Calcutta.  I  was  not  quite  twenty  when  he  died,  and 
his  bankruptcy  left  me  penniless,  just  at  the  time  of  life  when 
such  a  condition  is  most  painfully  felt.  In  my  case  it  was 
worse  than  usual,  because  so  utterly  unexpected,  and  my 
education  had  in  no  way  prepared  me  to  meet  it.  Every  thing 
went :  house,  furniture,  library,  and  even  those  domestic  trifles 
which  are  hardest  to  part  with.  A  few  souvenirs  of  mt 
mother  were  saved,  and  a  friend  of  the  family  purchased  and 
gave  to  me  my  father's  watch.  My  brolher-in-law  was  unable 
to  help  me,  because  he  was  greatly  involved  in  the  ruin.  He 
gent  my  sister  and  their  children  to  live  in  a  cheap  New  Jer- 
sey village,  wliile  he  undertook  a  journey  to  New  Orleans,  in 
the  hope   of  retrieving  his   position   by  a  lucky  stroke   of 


136  HAirarAH  thueston: 

business.  Thus,  within  a  month  after  the  funeral  of  mj 
father,  I  found  myself  alone,  poor,  and  homeless.  It  was  in 
1837,  and  the  great  financial  crash  was  just  beginning  to 
thunder  in  men's  ears.  My  father's  friends  were  too  much 
concerned  about  their  own  interests  to  care  especially  foi 
niine.  It  was  no  single  case  of  misfortune :  there  were  ex- 
tnijiles  equally  hard,  on  all  sides,  very  soon. 

"  Nevertheless,  I  was  not  suffered  to  become  a  vagabond. 
A  subordinate  clerkship  was  procured  for  me,  at  a  salary  of 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year  I  was  ignorant  of 
business,  for  ray  father  had  intended  that  I  should  study  Law, 
after  completing  my  collegiate  course,  and  the  character  of 
my  mind  was  not  well  adapted  for  commercial  life.  The 
salary,  small  as  it  was,  fully  equalled  the  value  of  my  services, 
and  I  should  have  made  it  suffice  to  meet  my  wants,  if  I  had 
received  it  punctually.  But  my  employer  so  narrowly  escaped 
ruin  during  the  crisis  that  he  was  often  unable  to  pay  me,  or 
my  fellow-clerks,  our  monthly  wages,  and  I,  who  had  no  little 
hoard  to  draw  upon,  like  the  others,  sometimes  sufiered  the 
most  painful  embarrassment.  I  have  frequently,  this  winter, 
heard  the  praises  of  a  vegetable  diet.  I  have  some  right  to 
give  my  opinion  on  the  subject,  as  I  tried  the  experiment  for 
two  months  at  a  time,  and  must  say  that  it  totally  failed. 

"  I  was  too  proud  to  borrow  money,  at  such  times,  and  was, 
moreover,  exceedingly  sensitive  lest  my  situation  should  become 
known.  The  boarding-house,  where  I  first  made  my  home,  be 
came  uncomfortable,  because  I  was  not  always  ready  with  my 
money  on  Saturday  morning.  Besides,  it  was  a  cheap  place,  kept 
by  an  old  woman  with  two  sentimental  daughters,  who  wore 
their  hair  in  curls  and  always  smelt  of  sassafras  soap.  There  were 
various  reasons  which  you  will  understand,  without  my  tellirg 
you,  why  my  residence  there  grew  at  last  to  be  insufierable.  1 
»Ciidentally  discovered  that  the  owner  of  a  corner  grocery  ji 
the  Bowery  had  a  vacant  room  over  his  store,  with  a  separate 
entrance  from  the  cross-street,  and  that  he  could  supply  me,  at 
a  cheap  rent,  with  the  most  necessary  furniture.     The  bargain 


A   STOBY   OF   AMERICAN   LIKE.  187 

was  soon  made.  The  room  and  furniture  cost  me  a  dollar  a  week, 
and  my  food  could  be  regulated  according  to  my  means.  The 
common  eating-houses  supplied  me,  now  and  then,  with  a  meal, 
but  I  oftenest  bought  my  bread  at  the  baker's,  and  filled  my 
pitcher  from  the  hydrant  in  the  back-yard.  I  was  also  so  far 
Independent  that  I  could  choose  my  associates,  and  regulate 
iny  personal  habits.  I  assure  you  that  I  never  wasVred  my 
face  with  sassafras  soap." 

Mrs.  Waldo  laughed  heartily  at  this  declaration,  and  Mrs. 
Merryfield  innocently  exclaimed:  "Why,  I'm  sure  it's  very 
good  for  the  skin." 

"  Meanwhile,"  Woodbury  continued,  "  I  still  kept  up  inter- 
course with  the  circle  in  which  my  father  moved,  and  which, 
at  that  time,  would  have  been  called  '  fashionable.'  Some 
families,  it  is  true,  felt  a  restraint  towards  me  which  I  was  too 
sensitive  not  to  discover.  The  daughters  had  evidently  been 
warned  against  too  great  a  display  of  sympathy.  On  the  other 
hand,  I  made  new  and  delightful  acquaintances,  of  equal  social 
standing,  by  whom  I  was  treated  with  a  delicacy  and  a  gener- 
ous consideration  which  I  shall  never  forget.  In  fact,  what- 
ever Christian  respect  I  may  exhibit,  in  my  intercourse  w^th 
others,  I  learned  from  those  families.  You  may  know  what 
they  were,  Mr.  Waldo,  by  imagining  how  you  would  treat  me, 
now,  if  I  should  suddenly  lose  my  property. 

"  I  had  been  living  in  this  manner  for  a  year,  or  thereabouts, 
when  the  main  incident  of  ray  story  occurred.  In  the  circle 
where  I  was  most  intimate,  there  were  two  or  three  wealthy 
bachelors,  who  had  handsome  residences  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Bleecker  street  (there  was  no  Fifth  Avenue  then).  These 
gentlemen  had,  in  turn,  given  entertainments  iuring  the  win- 
ter, and  had  taken  such  pains  to  make  them  agreeable  to  the 
young  ladies,  that  they  constituted  a  feature  of  the  season. 
The  company  was  small  and  select,  on  these  occasions,  two  or 
three  married  pairs  being  present  for  the  sake  of  propriety, 
but  no  society  was  ever  more  genial,  joyous,  and  unconstrained 
in  tone.     At  the  last  entertainment,  our  host  finished  by  giving 


188  HANTVAH   THURSTON : 

OS  a  choice  supper,  to  which  we  sat  down  in  order  to  enjoy  it 
thoroughly.  I  have  had  a  prejudice  against  all  ambulatory 
suppers  since.  There  were  songs  and  toasts,  and  fun  of  the 
purest  and  most  sparkling  quality.  At  last,  one  of  the  young 
ladies  said,  with  a  mock  despair:  '  So,  this  is  the  end  of  oui 
bachelor  evenings.  What  a  pity !  I  am  ready  to  wish  that 
jovL  other  gentlemen  had  remained  single,  for  our  sakes.  You 
know  you  cannot  give  us  such  delightful  parties  as  this.' 

" '  Are  there  really  no  more  bachelors  V  exclaimed  Miss 
Remington,  a  tall,  beautiful  girl,  who  sat  opposite  to  me. 
*  Must  wo  sing :  Lochaber  no  more  ?  But  that  will  never  do : 
some  married  man  must  retract  his  vow,  for  our  sakes.' 

"  One  of  the  latter,  looking  around  the  table,  answered : 
Let  us  be  certain,  first,  that  we  are  at  the  end  of  the  list, 
Belknap,  Moulton,  Parks — yes — but  stop !  there's  Woodbury  ! 
too  modest  to  speak  for  himself.' 

" '  Woodbury  !  Woodbury !'  they  all  shouted,  the  young 
ladies  insisting  that  I  should  and  must  entertain  them  in  my 
turn.  My  heart  came  into  my  throat.  I  attempted  to  laugh 
off  the  idea  as  a  jest,  but  they  were  too  joyously  excited  to 
heed  me.  It  was  a  cruel  embarrassment,  for  none  of  the  com 
pany  even  knew  where  I  lived.  My  letters  were  always  sent 
to  the  office  of  ray  employer.  Moreover,  I  had  but  five  dol- 
lars, and  had  made  a  resolution  never  to  live  in  advance  of  my 
wages.  What  was  I  to  do?  The  other  guests,  ignorant  of 
my  confusion,  or  not  heeding  it,  were  already  talking  of  the 
entertainment  as  settled,  and  began  to  suggest  the  evening 
when  it  should  take  place.  I  was  meditating,  in  a  sort  of  des- 
peration, whether  I  should  not  spring  up  and  rush  out  of  the 
house,  when  I  caught  Miss  Remington's  eye.  I  saw  that  she 
onderstood  my  embarrassment,  and  wanted  to  help  me.  Her 
look  said  *  Accept  1' — a  singular  fancy  darted  through  my 
mind,  and  I  instantly  regained  ray  self-possession.  I  informed 
the  company  that  I  should  be  very  happy  to  receive  them,  and 
that  my  entertainment  should  bear  the  same  proportion  to  my 
means  as  that  of  our  host.     The  invitations  were  given  and 


A    STORY    OF   AMEKICAN   LIFB.  185 

accepted  on  the  spot,  ana  an  evening  selected  from  the  follow 
ing  week. 

*• '  But  where  is  it  to  be  ?'  asked  one  of  the  young  ladies.     , 

" '  Oh,  he  will  let  you  know  in  time,'  said  Miss  Remington, 
who  took  occasion  to  whisper  to  me,  before  the  company  sepa- 
rated :  '  Come  to  me  first,  and  talk  the  matter  over.' 

"  I  called  upon  her  the  next  evening,  and  frankly  confided 
to  her  my  situation  and  means.  She  was  three  or  four  years 
older  than  myself,  and  possessed  so  much  natural  judgment 
and  good  sense,  in  addition  to  her  social  experience,  that  I  had 
the  utmost  confidence  in  her  advice.  A  woman  of  less  tact 
would  have  offered  to  assist  me,  and  that  would  have  been  an 
end  of  the  matter.  She  saw  at  once  what  was  best  to  be  done, 
and  we  very  soon  agreed  upon  the  preparations.  Every  thing 
was  to  be  kept  secret  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  whom  she 
determined  to  mystify  to  her  heart's  content.  She  informed 
them  that  the  entertainment  would  be  unlike  any  thing  they 
had  ever  seen ;  that  the  place  was  not  to  be  divulged,  but  the 
guests  were  to  assemble  at  her  father's  house  on  the  appointed 
evening ;  and  that  they  must  so  dress  as  to  do  the  highest 
honor  to  my  hospitality.  The  curiosity  of  all  was  greatly  ex- 
cited ;  the  affair  was  whispered  about,  and  others  endeavored 
to  join  the  party,  but  it  was  strictly  confined  to  the  original 
company. 

"  On  my  part  I  was  not  idle.  Adjoining  my  chamber  was 
a  large  room,  in  which  the  grocer  kept  some  of  his  stores. 
This  room  I  thoroughly  cleaned,  removing  some  of  the  articles, 
but  retaining  all  the  kegs  and  boxes.  The  grocer,  an  honest, 
amiable  man,  supposed  that  I  was  preparing  a  little  festival 
for  some  of  my  relatives,  and  gave  me  the  free  use  of  his  map 
terial.  I  arranged  the  kegs  and  boxes  around  the  walls, 
and  covered  them  with  coarse  wrapping-paper,  to  serve  aa 
Beats.  The  largest  box  was  stationed  in  a  corner,  with  a  keg 
on  the  top,  as  a  post  for  the  single  musician  I  had  engaged— 
an  old  Irish  fiddler,  whom  I  picked  up  in  the  street  I  went 
ut  towards  Yorkvilie  and  brought  home  a  bundle  of  cedar 


1.40  HANNAH   TIIUUSTON: 

boughs,  with  which  I  decorated  the  walls,  constructing  a  large 
green   word — Welcome — above   the   fireplace.      I  borrowed 

.  twelve  empty  bottles  in  which  I  placed  as  many  tallow  candles, 
and  disposed  them  about  the  room,  on  extemporized  brackets. 
For  my  owe  chamber,  which  was  designed  to  answer  as  a  dres 

'(ring-room  for  the  ladies,  1  made  candlesticks  out  of  the  largoal 
turnips  I  could  find  in  the  market.  In  fact,  I  purposely  remov* 
ed  some  little  conveniences  I  possessed,  and  invented  substi- 
tutes of  the  most  grotesque  kind.  I  became  so  much  inte- 
rested in  my  preparations,  and  in  speculating  upon  the  effect 
they  would  produce,  that  I  finally  grew  as  impatient  as  my 
guests  for  the  evening  to  arrive. 

"  Nine  o'clock  was  the  hour  appointed,  and,  punctually  to  the 
minute,  five  carriages  turned  out  of  the  Bowery  and  drew  up, 
one  after  another,  at  the  side-door.  I  was  at  the  entrance,  in 
complete  evening  dress,  with  white  gloves  (washed),  to  receive 
my  guests.  I  held  a  tray,  upon  which  there  were  as  many 
candles  fixed  in  large  turnips,  as  there  were  gentlemen  in  the 
party,  and  begged  each  one  to  take  a  light  and  follow  me. 
The  ladies,  magnificently  dressed  in  silks  and  laces,  rustled 
up  the  narrow  staircase,  too  much  amazed  to  speak.  As  I 
threw  open  the  door  of  my  saloon,  the  fiddler,  perched  near 
the  ceiling,  struck  up  'Hail  to  the  Chief  The  effect,  I  as- 
sure you,  was  imposing.  Miss  Remington  shook  hands  with 
me,  heartily,  exclaiming:  'Admirable!  You  could  not  have 
done  better.'  To  be  sure,  there  were  some  exclamations  of 
surprise,  and  perhaps  one  or  two  blank  faces — but  only  for  a 
moment.  The  fun  was  seen  immediately,  and  the  evening 
commenced  with  that  delightful  social  abandon  in  which  othei 
evenings  generally  end.  The  fiddler  played  a  Scotch  reel,  and 
the  couples  took  their  places  on  the  floor.  Two  of  the  older 
gentlemen  were  familiar  with  both  the  Scotch  and  Irish  dances, 
and  the  younger  ladies  set  about  learning  them  with  a  spirit 
which  charmed  the  old  musician's  heart.  The  superb  silka 
floated  about  the  room  to  the  jolliest  tunes,  or  rested,  in  the 
intervals,  on  the  grocer's  kegs,  ;uid  once  a  string   of  peailfl 


A.   STOUY    OF    AXfERlCAX   LIFlt  14* 

broke  and  rolled  into  the  fireplace.  After  a  while,  the  gro 
cer'sboy,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  made  his  appearance  with  a  large 
market-basket  on  his  arm,  containing  a  mixture  of  cakes, 
raifiins,  and  almonds.  He  was  in  great  demand,  especially 
as  I  furnislied  no  plates.  It  was  then  agreed  to  put  the 
basket  on  a  keg,  as  a  permanent  refreshment-table,  and  the  boy 
brought  in  lemonade,  in  all  kinds  of  drinking-vessels.  I  had 
taken  some  pains  to  have  them  all  of  different  patterns.  Thert 
were  tin-cups,  stoneware  mugs,  tea-cups,  bowls,  and  even  a " 
3ologne  bottle.  By  this  time  all  had  fully  entered  into  the 
spirit  of  the  affair:  I  was  not  only  at  ease  but  jubilant.  The 
old  fiddler  played  incessantly.  Miss  Remington  sang  'The 
Exile  of  Erin'  to  his  accompaniment,  and  the  old  man  cried  : 
we  had  speeches,  toasts,  recitations :  we  revived  old  games : 
we  told  fortunes  with  cards  (borrowed  from  the  porter-house 
across  the  way) :  in  short,  there  was  no  bound  to  the  extent  of 
our  merriment,  and  no  break  in  its  flow. 

"  It  occurred  to  some  one,  at  last,  to  look  at  his  watch. — 
*  God  bless  me !  it's  three  o'clock  !'  he  cried.  Three ! — and  six 
hours  had  already  passed  away !  The  ladies  tore  up  my  green 
word  '  Welcome,'  to  get  sprigs  of  cedar  as  souvenirs  of  the 
evening :  some  even  carried  off  the  turnip-candlesticks.  Miss 
Remington  laughed  in  her  sleeve  at  the  latter.  *  I  know  bet- 
ter than  to  do  that,'  she  said  to  me ;  '  turnips  have  a  habit  of 
rotting.'  It  was  unanimously  voted  that  I  had  given  them 
the  best  entertainment  of  the  season ;  and  I  am  sure,  for  ray 
own  part,  that  none  had  been  so  heartily  enjoyed. 

"  The  story,  as  you  may  suppose,  soon  became  known ;  and 
It  was  only  by  sheer  resolution  that  I  escaped  a  social  popu- 
larity which  might  have  turned  my  head  at  that  age.  I  was 
even  asked  to  repeat  the  entertainment,  so  that  others  might 
Lave  a  chance  to  participate  in  it ;  but  I  knew  that  its  whole 
success  lay  in  the  spontaneous  inspiration  which  prompted, 
and  the  surprise  which  accompanied  it.  The  incident,  how- 
ever, proved  to  be  one  of  the  influences  to  which  I  must  attri 
bute  wy  subsequent  good  fortune." 


142  HAKNAii  tiiurstoit: 

"  Pray,  how  was  that  ?"  asked  Mr.  Waldo. 

"My  employer  heard,  in  some  way  or  other,  that  I  had 
given  a  splendid  entertainment.  Knowing  my  means,  and 
fearing  that  I  had  fallen  into  reckless  habits,  he  called  me  into 
his  private  office  and  very  seriously  asked  for  an  explana- 
tion of  my  conduct.  I  related  the  circumstances,  precisely  as 
they  had  occurred.  He  easily  ascertained  that  my  story  was 
true,  and  from  that  day  forward  took  an  increased  interest  in 
me,  to  which  I  must  attribute,  in  part,  my  rapid  advancement. 
Now,  it  there  is  any  moral  in  all  this,  I  think  you  can  easily 
find  it.  If  there  is  not,  perhaps  you  have  been  diverted 
enough  to  pardon  me  for  talking  so  much  about  myself." 

"Why,  it's  delightful!  I  never  heard  anything  better  I" 
cried  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"  It  shows,  though,"  interposed  Mrs.  Merryfield,  "  how  in- 
consistent those  fashionable  women  are.  They  can  be  coura- 
geous and  independent  for  the  sake  of  pleasure,  but  they'd  be 
horrified  at  venturing  so  far  for  the  sake  of  principle." 

"  You  are  hardly  just,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  addressing 
the  last  speaker ;  "  Mr.  Woodbury's  story  has  a  moral,  and  I 
am  very  glad  he  has  given  it  to  us." 

Seth  Wattles  had  been  interested  and  amused,  in  spite  of 
himself,  but  he  was  not  the  man  to  acknowledge  it.  He  was 
endeavoring  to  find  some  point  at  which  he  might  carp,  with 
a  show  of  reason,  when  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth  entered  the  room, 
and  presently  Bute  Wilson,  who  had  driven  from  Lakeside  to 
take  Woodbury  home. 

"Mr,  Max.!"  cried  tlie  latter,  whose  face  had  a  flushed, 
8trange  expression,  "  Diamond  won't  stand  alone,  and  I  must 
go  out  and  hold  him  till  you're  ready." 

'  I'll  come  at  once,  then,"  said  Woodbury,  and  took  ieavt 
»f  Jie  company. 


▲   STORT   OF  AJVtEBICAir  LIFS.  143 


CHAPTER  XL 

OOHTATNIKa  TWO  DECLAEATIONS,  Ain)  THB  AlfSWBBS  THS&KIO, 

As  Bute,  on  entering  the  village,  passed  the  Widow  Thurs- 
ton's cottage,  he  noticed  a  dim  little  figure  emerging  from  the 
gate.  Although  the  night  was  dark,  and  the  figure  was  su 
muffled  as  to  present  no  distinct  outline,  Bute's  eyes  were 
particularly  sharp.  Like  the  sculptor,  he  saw  the  statue  in 
the  shapeless  block.  Whether  it  was  owing  to  a  short  jerk- 
ing swing  in  the  gait,  or  an  occasional  sideward  toss  of  what 
seemed  to  be  the  head,  he  probably  did  not  reflect ;  but  he 
immediately  drew  the  rein  on  Diamond,  and  called  out  "  Mish 
Carrie !" 

"  Ah !"  proceeded  from  the  figure,  as  it  stopped,  with  a 
start ;  "  who  is  it  ?" 

Bute  cautiously  drove  near  the  plank  sidewalk,  before 
answering.     Then  he  said :  "  It's  me." 

"Oh,  Bute,"  exclaimed  Miss  Dilworth,  "how  you  fright' 
ened  me !     Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  home.  I'm  a-goin'  to  fetcii  Mr.  Max.,  but  there's  no 
hurry.  I  say,  Miss  Carrie,  wouldn't  you  Uke  to  take  a  little 
sleigh-ride  ?     Where  are  you  goin'  to  ?" 

"  To  Waldo's." 

"  Why,  so  am  I !     Jump  in,  and  I'll  take  you  along." 

Miss  Dilworth,  nothing  loath,  stepped  from  the  edge  of  the 
sidewalk  into  the  cutter,  and  took  her  seat.  Bute  experienced 
a  singuhir  feeling  of  comfort,  at  having  the  soft  little  body 
wedged  so  closely  beside  him,  with  the  same  wolf-skin  spread 
over  their  mutual  knees.     Ilis  heart  being  on  the  side  next 


144  HANNAH   THUESTON  : 

ner,  it  presently  sent  a  tingling  warmth  over  his  whole  frame; 
tlie  sense  of  her  presence  impressed  him  with  a  vague  physiual 
delight,  and  he  regretted  that  the  cutter  was  not  so  narrow  as 
lo  oblige  him  to  take  her  upon  his  knees.  It  was  less  than 
half  a  mile  to  the  parsonage — about  two  minutes,  as  Diamond 
trotted — and  then  the  doors  of  heaven  would  close  upon  him. 

"  No !  by  Jimminy !"  he  suddenly  exclaimed,  turning 
around  in  the  track,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  upsetting  the 
cutter. 

"  Wliat's  the  matter  ?"  cried  Miss  Dilworth,  a  little  alarmed 
at  this  unexpected  manoeuvre. 

"  It  isn't  half  a  drive  for  you,  Carrie,"  Bute  replied.  "  The 
sleddia's  prime,  and  I'll  jist  take  a  circuit  up  the  creek,  and 
across  into  the  South  Road.  We'll  go  it  in  half  an  hour,  and 
there's  plenty  of  time." 

Miss  Dilworth  knew,  better  even  than  if  he  had  tried  to  teD 
her,  that  Bute  was  proud  and  happy  at  having  her  beside 
him.  Her  vanity  was  agreeably  ministered  to ;  she  enjoyed 
sleighing ;  and,  moreover,  where  was  the  harm  ?  She  would 
not  have  objected,  on  a  pinch,  to  be  driven  through  Ptolemy 
by  Arbutus  Wilson,  in  broad  daylight ;  and  now  it  was  too 
dark  for  either  of  them  to  be  recognized.  So  she  quietly 
submitted  to  what  was,  after  all,  not  a  hard  fate. 

As  they  sped  along  merrily  over  the  bottoms  of  East 
Atauga  Creek,  past  the  lonely,  whispering  elms,  and  the 
Unes  of  ghostly  alders  fringing  the  stream,  where  the  air 
struck  their  faces  with  a  damp  cold,  the  young  lady  shud- 
iered.  She  pressed  a  little  more  closely  against  Bute,  as  if 
to  make  sure  of  his  presence,  and  said,  in  a  low  tone :  "  1 
iliould  not  like  to  be  alone,  here,  at  this  hour." 

Poor  Bute  felt  that  the  suspense  of  his  heart  was  no  longer 
lo  be  borne.  She  had  played  with  him,  and  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  be  played  with,  long  enough.  He  would  ask  a 
serious  question  and  demand  a  serious  answer.  His  resolution 
was  fixed,  yet,  now  that  the  moment  had  arrived,  bis  tongue 
seemed  to  become  pardyzed.     The  words  were  in  his  mind, 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN  LtFE.  145 

every  one  of  them — he  had  said  them  over  to  himself,  a  hun- 
dred times — but  there  was  a  muzzle  on  his  mouth  which  pre- 
vented their  being  put  into  sound.  He  looked  at  the  panels 
of  fence  as  they  sped  past,  and  thought,  "  so  much  more  of 
the  road  has  gone,  and  I  have  said  nothing." 

Miss  Dilworth's  voice  was  like  a  palpable  hand  stretched 
out  to  draw  him  from  that  quagmire  of  silence.  "Oh, 
Carrie!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  needn't  be  alone,  anywheres — 
leastways  where  there's  any  thing  to  skeer  or  hurt  you." 

She  understood  him,  and  resumed  her  usual  tactics,  half- 
accepting,  half-defensive.  "  We  can't  help  being  alone  some- 
times, Bute,"  she  answered,  "  and  some  are  born  to  be  alone 
always.  Alone  in  spirit,  you  know;  where  there  is  no  con- 
genial nature." 

"  You're  not  one  o'  them^  Carrie,"  said  Bute,  desperately. 
"  You  know  you're  not  a  genus.  If  you  was,  T  shouldn't  keer 
whether  I  had  your  good-will  or  not.  But  I  want  that,  and 
more'n  that,  because  I  like  you  better  than  any  thing  in  this 
world.  I've  hinted  the  same  many  a  time,  and  you  know  it, 
and  I  don't  want  you  to  turn  it  off  no  longer." 

The  earnestness  of  his  voice  caused  Miss  Dilworth  to  trem- 
ble. .There  was  a  power  in  the  man  which  she  feared  she 
could  not  withstand.  Still  he  had  made  no  definite  proposal, 
and  she  was  not  bound  to  answer  more  than  his  words  literally 
n»dicated. 

"  Why,  of  course  I  like  you,  Bute,"  said  she ;  "  everybody 
does.  And  you've  always  been  so  kind  and  obligmg  towards 
me." 

"  Like !  I'd  ruther  you'd  say  hate  than  like.  There's  two 
kinds  c'  likin',  and  one  of 'em's  the  kind  that  doesn't  fit  any 
body  that  comes  along.  Every  man,  Carrie,  that's  wuth  hi 
^alt,  must  find  a  woman  to  work  for,  and  when  he's  nigh  onto 
thirty,  as  I  am,  he  wants  to  see  a  youngster  growin'  up,  to 
take  his  place  when  he  gits  old.  Otherways,  no  matter  how 
lucky  he  is,  there's  not  much  comfort  to  him  in  livin'.  Now, 
I'm  awful  serious  about  this.     I  don't  care  whether  we're  con- 


146  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

genial  spirits,  or  not,  but  I  want  you,  Carrie,  for  my  wife 
rou  may  hunt  far  and  wide,  but  you'll  find  nobody  that'll 
fceer  for  you  as  I  will.  Perhaps  I  don't  talk  quite  as  fine  as 
gome,  but  talkin's  like  the  froth  on  the  creek ;  maybe  it's 
shallow,  and  maybe  it's  deep,  you  can't  tell.  The  heart's  the 
aaain  thing,  and,  thank  God,  I'm  right  there.  Carrie,  this 
once,  jist  this  once,  don't  trifle  with  me." 

Bute's  voice  became  soft  and  pleading,  as  he  closed.  Misi 
Dil worth  was  moved  at  last ;  he  had  struck  through  her  affeo 
ted  sentimentalism,  and  touched  the  small  bit  of  true  womanly 
nature  beneath  it.  But  the  impression  was  too  sudden.  She 
had  not  relinquished  her  ambitious  yearnings ;  she  knew  and 
valued  Bute's  fidelity,  and,  precisely  for  that  reason,  she  felt 
secure  in  seeming  to  decline  it.  She  would  have  it  in  resei-ve, 
in  any  case,  and  meanwhile,  he  was  too  cheerful  and  light- 
hearted  to  sufier  much  pain  from  the  delay.  Had  he  taken 
her  in  his  arms,  had  he  stormed  her  with  endearing  words, 
had  he  uttered  even  one  sentence  of  the  hackneyed  sentiment 
in  which  she  delighted,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  re- 
sist. But  he  sat  silently  waiting  for  her  answer,  while  the 
horse  slowly  climbed  the  hill  over  which  they  must  pass  to 
reach  the  South  Road  ;  and  in  that  silence  her  vanity  regained 
as  strength. 

"  Carrie  ?"  he  said,  at  last. 

«  Bute  ?" 

"  You  don't  answer  me." 

"  Oh,  Bute !"  said  she,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  tenderness 
and  coquetry,  "I  don't  know  how.  I  never  thought  you 
were  more  than  half  in  earnest.  And  I'm  not  sure,  after  all, 
that  we  were  meant  for  each  other.  I  like  you  as  well  as  1 
like  anybody,  but — " 

Here  she  paused. 

"  But  you  won't  have  me,  I  s'pose  ?"  said  Bute,  iu  a  tone 
that  was  both  bitter  and  sad. 

"  I  don't  quite  mean  that,"  she  answered.  "  But  a  woman 
has  80  much  at  stake,  you  know.     She  must  love  more  than  a 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  147 

man,  Tve  been  told,  b(;fore  she  can  give  up  her  name  and  hei 
life  to  him.  I  don't  know,  Bute,  whether  I  should  do  right  to 
promise  myself  to  you.  I've  never  thought  of  it  seriously 
Besides,  you  come  upon  me  so  sudden — you  frightened  me  a 
little,  and  I  really  don't  exactly  know  what  my  own  mind  is." 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Bute,  in  a  stern  voice. 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  the  long  descent 
to  Ptolemy  lay  before  them,  Bute  drew  the  reins  and  held 
the  horse  to  his  best  speed.  Some  inner  prop  of  his  strong 
breast  seemed  to  give  way  all  at  once.  He  took  the  thick 
end  of  his  woollen  scarf  between  his  teeth  and  stifled  the  con- 
vulsive movements  of  his  throat.  Then  a  sensation  of  heat 
rushed  through  his  brain,  and  the  tears  began  to  roll  rapidly 
down  his  cheeks.  He  was  grateful  for  the  darkness  which  hid 
his  face,  for  the  bells  which  drowned  his  labored  breathing, 
and  for  the  descent  which  shortened  the  rest  of  the  drive.  He 
said  nothing  more,  and  Miss  Dil  worth,  in  spite  of  herself,  was 
awed  by  his  silence.  By  the  time  they  had  reached  the  par- 
sonage he  was  tolerably  calm,  and  the  traces  of  his  passion 
had  disappeared  from  his  face. 

Miss  Dilworth  lingered  while  he  was  fastening  the  horse. 
She  felt,  it  must  be  confessed,  very  uneasy,  and  not  guiltless  of 
what  had  happened.  She  knew  not  how  to  interpret  Bute's 
sudden  silence.  It  was  probably  anger,  she  thought,  and 
she  would  therefore  lay  the  first  stone  of  a  temple  of  recon- 
ciliation.    She  liked  him  too  well  to  lose  him  wholly. 

"  Good-night,  Bute !"  she  said,  holding  out  her  hand :  '*  you 
are  not  angry  with  me,  are  you  ?'' 

"  No,"  was  his  only  answer,  as  he  took  her  hand.  There 
was  no  eager,  tender  pressure,  as  before,  and  the  tone  of  his 
foice,  to  her  ear,  betrayed  indifference,  which  was  worse  than 
mger. 

After  Woodbury  had  taken  leave,  there  was  a  general  move- 
ment of  departure.  The  sempstress  had  come  to  spend  a  few 
days  with  Mrs.  Waldo,  and  did  not  intend  returning;  it  was 
rather  late,  and  the  Mcirytields  took  the  nearest  road  home,  ao 


148  HAXNAH   THURSTON  : 

that  Hannah  Thurston  must  have  walked  back,  alone,  to  her 
mother's  cottage,  had  not  Seth  Wattles  been  there  to  escort  her. 
Seth  foresaw  this  duty,  and  inwardly  rejoiced  thereat.  The 
absence  of  Woodbury  restored  his  equanimity  of  temper,  and 
he  was  as  amiably  disposed  as  was  possible  to  his  incoherent 
nature.  He  was  not  keen  enough  to  perceive  the  strong  relief 
into  wh.ch  his  shapeless  mind  was  thrown  by  the  symmetry 
lUid  balance  of  the  man  whom  he  hated — that  he  lost  ground, 
even  in  his  own  circle,  not  merely  from  the  discomfiture  of  the 
moment,  but  far  more  from  that  unconscious  comparison  of  tlie 
two  which  arose  from  permanent  impressions.  He  was  not 
aware  of  the  powerful  magnetism  which  social  culture  exer- 
cises, especially  upon  minds  fitted, 'by  their  honest  yearning 
after  something  better,  to  receive  it  themselves. 

Seth  was  therefore,  without  reason,  satisfied  with  himself  as 
he  left  the  house.  He  had  dared,  at  least,  to  face  this  self- 
constituted  lion,  and  had  found  the  animal  more  disposed  to 
gambol  than  to  bite.  He  flattered  himself  that  his  earnestness 
contrasted  favorably  with  the  levity  whereby  Woodbury  had 
parried  questions  so  important  to  the  human  race.  Drawing 
a  long  breath,  as  of  great  relief,  he  exclaimed : 

"  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest !  We  feel  it,  under  this  sky : 
here  the  frivolous  chatter  of  Society  is  hushed." 

Hannah  Thurston  took  his  proffered  arm,  conscious,  as  she 
did  so,  of  a  shudder  of  something  very  like  repugnance.  For 
the  fiist  time  it  struck  her  that  she  would  rather  hear  the 
sparkling  nothings  of  gay  conversation  than  Seth's  serious 
platitudes.  She  did  not  particularly  desire  his  society,  just 
now,  and  attempted  to  hasten  her  pace,  under  the  pretext  that 
the  night  was  cold. 

Seth,  however,  hung  back.  "  We  do  not  enjoy  the  night  as 
we  ought,"  said  he.  "It  elevates  and  expands  the  soul.  It  is 
the  time  for  kindred  souls  to  hold  communion." 

•'  Scarcely  out  of  doors,  in  winter,  unless  they  are  disembod- 
ied," remarked  Miss  Thurston. 

Seth  was  somewhat  taken  aback.     He  had  not  expected  so 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  IW 

Hght  a  tone  fi-om  so  grave  and  earnest  a  nature.  It  was  tin- 
nsual  with  her,  and  reminded  him,  unpleassintly,  of  Wood- 
bury's frivolity.  But  he  summoned  new  courage,  and  con. 
tinned : 

"  We  can  say  things  at  night  for  which  we  have  no  courags 
in  daylight.  We  are  more  sincere,  somehow — ^less  selfish,  yon 
know,  and  more  afiectionate." 

"  There  ought  to  be  no  such  difference,"  said  she,  mechani- 
oauy,  and  again  hastening  her  steps. 

"  I  know  there  oughtn't.  And  I  didn't  mean  that  I  wasn't 
as  true  as  ever ;  but — but  there  are  chosen  times  when  our 
Bouis  are  uplifted  and  approach  each  other.  This  is  such  a 
time,  Hannah,     We  seem  to  be  nearer,  and — and — " 

He  could  get  no  farther.  The  other  word  in  his  mind  was 
too  bold  to  be  used  at  the  outset.  Besides,  having  taken  one 
step,  he  must  allow  her  to  take  the  next :  it  would  make  the 
crisis  easier  for  both.  But  she  only  drew  her  cloak  more 
closely  around  her,  and  said  nothing. 

"The  influences  of  night  and — other  things,"  he  resumed, 
"render  us  insensible  to  time  and — temperature.  There  is 
one  thing,  at  least,  which  defies  the  elements.    Is  there  not  ?** 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

"  Benevolence,  no  doubt,  or  a  duty  so  stem  and  sacred  that 
life  itself  is  subordinate  to  its  performance." 

"Yes,  that's  true — but  I  mean  something  else!"  Seth  ex- 
claimed. "  Something  I  feel,  now,  deep  in  my  buzzum.  Shall 
I  unveil  it  to  your  gaze  ?" 

"I  have  no  right  to  ask  or  accept  your  confidence,"  she 
replied. 

"Yes,  you  have.  One  kindred  soul  has  the  right  to  demand 
every  thing  of  the  other.  I  might  have  told  you,  long  ago, 
but  I  waited  so  that  you  might  find  it  out  for  yourself,  with- 
out the  necessity  of  words.  Surely  you  must  have  seen  it  in  my 
eyes,  and  heard  it  in  ni}'  voice,  because  every  thing  powerful 
in  us  expresses   itself  somehow  in  spite  of  us.     The  deepest 


ISO  HANNAH   THimSTON  : 

emotions,  you  know,  are  silent ;  but  you  understand  my  silenoi 
now,  don't  you  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  was  more  annoyed  than  surprised  by  this 
declaration.  She  saw  that  a  clear  understanding  could  not  be 
avoided,  and  nerved  herself  to  meet  it.  Her  feeling  of  repug 
nance  to  the  speaker  increased  with  every  word  he  uttered 
yet,  if  his  passion  were  genuine  (and  she  had  no  right  to  doubt 
that  it  was  so),  he  was  entitled  at  least  to  her  respect  and  her 
pity.  Still,  he  had  spoken  only  in  vague  terms,  and  she  could 
not  answer  the  real  question.  Why  ?  Did  she  not  fully  un- 
derstand him  ?  Was  the  shrinking  sense  of  delicacy  in  her 
heart,  which  she  was  unable  to  overcome,  a  characteristic  of 
sex,  separating  her  nature,  by  an  impassable  gulf,  from  that  of 
rnan? 

"  Please  explain  yourself  clearly,  Seth,"  she  said,  at  last. 

"  Oh,  don't  your  own  heart  explain  it  for  you  ?  Love  don't 
want  to  be  explained :  it  comes  to  us  of  itself.  See  here — 
we've  been  laboring  together  ever  so  long  in  the  Path  of  Pro- 
gress, and  our  souls  are  united  in  aspirations  for  the  good  of  our 
fellow-men.  All  I  want  is,  that  we  should  now  unite  our  lives 
in  the  great  work.  You  know  I  believe  in  the  equal  rights  of 
Woman,  and  would  never  think  of  subjecting  you  to  the 
tyranny  your  sisteis  groan  under.  I  have  no  objection  to 
taking  your  name,  if  you  want  to  make  that  sort  of  a  protest 
against  legal  slaveiy.  We'll  both  keep  our  independence,  and 
show  to  the  world  the  example  of  a  true  marriage.  Somebody 
must  begin,  you  know,  as  Charles  Macky,  the  glorious  poet  of 
our  cause,  says  in  his  Good  Time  Coming." 

"  Seth,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  with  a  sad,  deliberate  sweet- 
ness in  her  voice,  "  there  is  one  thing,  without  which  there 
ehould  be  no  union  between  man  and  woman."  - 

"  What  is  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Love." 

"  How  ?  I  don't  understand  you.  That  is  the  very  reason 
irhy " 

"  You  forget,"  she  interrupted,  "  that  love  must  be  recipro- 


A    STOET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  151 

cal.  You  have  taken  it  for  gi-anted  that  I  returned,  in  equal 
measure,  the  feelings  you  have  expressed  towards  me.  Where 
the  fortune  of  a  life  is  concerned,  it  is  best  to  be  frank,  though 
frankness  give  pait.  Seth,  I  do  not,  I  never  can,  give  you 
love.  A  coincidence  of  opinions,  of  hopes  and  aspirations,  is 
not  love.  I  believe  that  you  have  made  this  mistake  in  your 
ov,  B  mind,  and  that  you  will,  sooner  or  later,  thank  me  for 
having  revealed  it  to  you.  I  have  never  suspected,  in  you, 
the  existence  of  love  in  its  holiest  and  profoundest  meaning, 
nor  have  I  given  you  reason  to  suppose  that  my  sentiments 
towards  you  were  other  than  those  of  friendly  sympathy  and 
good-will.  I  deeply  regret  it,  if  you  have  imagined  otherwise. 
I  cannot  atone  to  you  for  the  ruin  of  whatever  hopes  you  may 
have  cherished,  but  I  can  at  least  save  you  from  disappoint- 
ment in  the  ftiture.  1  tell  you  now,  therefore,  once  and  for- 
ever, that,  whatever  may  happen,  however  our  fates  may 
change,  you  and  I  can  never,  never  be  husband  and  wife." 

Sweet  and  low  as  was  her  voice,  an  inexorable  fate  spoke  in 
it.  Seth  felt,  word  by  word,  its  fatal  significance,  as  the  con- 
demned culprit  feels  the  terrible  phrases  of  his  final  sentence. 
He  knew,  instinctively,  that  it  was  vain  to  plead  or  expostulate. 
He  must,  perforce,  accept  his  doom;  but,  in  doing  so,  his  in- 
jured self-esteem  made  a  violent  protest.  It  was  the  fretful 
anger  of  disappointment,  rather  than  the  unselfish  sorrow  of 
love.  He  could  only  account  for  the  fact  of  his  refusal  by  the 
supposition  that  her  affections  were  elsewhere  bestowed. 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  he,  petulantly ;  "  somebody  else  is  in 
the  way." 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  she  answered.  "  I,  only,  am 
responsible  for  your  disappointment.  You  have  no  right  to 
question  me,  and  I  might  well  allow  your  insinuation  to  pass 
without  notice  ;  but  my  silence  may  possibly  mislead  you,  as 
it  seems  my  ordinary  friendly  regard  has  done.  1  will,  there- 
fore, for  my  own  sake  no  less  than  yours — for  I  desire,  in  so 
solemn  a  matter,  to  leave  no  ground  for  self-reproach — volun 
tarily  say  to  you,  that  I  know  no  man  to  whom  I  could  sorren- 


IM  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

der  my  life  in  the  unquestioning  sacrifice  of  love.  I  have  long 
since  renounced  the  idea  of  marriage.  My  habits  of  thought 
— ^the  duties  I  have  assumed — my  lack  of  youth  and  beauly, 
perhaps"  (and  here  the  measured  sweetness  of  her  voice  was 
interrupted  for  a  moment), "  will  never  attract  to  me  the  man^ 
unselfish  enough  to  be  just  to  my  sex,  equally  pure  in  his  as- 
pirations, equally  tender  in  his  afiections,  and  wiser  in  the 
richness  of  his  experience,  whom  my  heart  would  demand,  if 
it  dared  still  longer  to  cherish  a  hopeless  dream.  I  have  not 
even  enough  of  an  ideal  love  remaining,  to  justify  your  jeal- 
ousy. In  my  association  with  you  for  the  advancement  of 
mutual  aims,  as  well  as  in  our  social  intercourse,  I  have  treated 
you  with  the  kindly  respect  which  was  your  due  as  a  feUow- 
being,  but  I  can  never  recognize  in  you  that  holy  kinship  of 
the  heart,  without  which  Love  is  a  mockery  and  Marriage  is 
worse  than  death  !" 

Seth  felt  it  impossible  to  reply,  although  his  self-esteem  was 
cruelly  wounded.  She  thought  herself  too  good  for  him,  then : 
that  was  it!  Why,  the  very  man  she  had  desciibed,  as  the 
ideal  husband  she  would  never  meet — it  was  exactly  himself! 
It  was  of  no  use,  however,  for  him  to  say  so.  She  had  reject- 
ed him  with  a  solemn  decision,  from  which  there  was  no  ap- 
peal. He  must,  also,  needs  believe  her  other  declaration,  that 
she  loved  no  one  else.  Her  inordinate  mental  pride  was  the 
true  explanation. 

They  had  stopped,  during  the  foregoing  conversation.  Han 
nab  Thurston  had  dropped  her  hold  on  his  arm,  and  stood, 
facing  him,  on  the  narrow  sidewalk.  The  night  was  so  dark 
that  neither  could  distinctly  see  the  other's  face.  A  melan- 
choly wind  hummed  in  the  leafless  twigs  of  the  elms  above 
fhem,  and  went  ofi"  to  sough  among  a  neighboring  group  of 
pines.  Finding  that  Seth  made  no  answer,  Miss  Thurston 
slowly  resumed  her  homeward  walk.  He  mechanically  ac 
companicd  her.  As  they  approached  the  widow's  cottage,  he 
heaved  a  long,  hoarse  sigh,  and  muttered  : 

"Well,  there's    another    aspiration    deceived.      It    seeuui 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN    i^IFB.  159 

there's  no  quality  of  humau  nature  which  we  can  depend 
upon." 

"  Do  not  let  this  disappointment  make  you  unjust,  Seth," 
she  said,  pausing,  with  her  hand  upon  the  gate.  "  You  have 
deceived  yourself,  and  it  is  far  better  to  become  reconciled  to 
the  truth  at  once.  If  I  have  ignorantly,  in  any  way,  as-sisted 
in  the  deception,  I  beg  you  to  pardon  me." 

She  turned  to  enter  the  cottage,  but  Seth  still  hesitated. 
"  Hannah,"  he  said  at  last,  awkwardly :  "  You — you  won't  say 
any  thing  about  this  ?" 

She  moved  away  from  him  with  an  instant  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing. "  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?"  she  exclaimed.  "Repeat 
that  question  to  yourself,  and  perhaps  it  may  explain  to  you 
why  your  nature  and  mine  can  never  approach  !"  Without 
saying  good-night,  she  entered  the  house,  leaving  Seth  to  wan- 
der back  to  his  lodgings  in  a  very  uncomfortable  frame  of 
mind. 

Hannah  Thurston  found  the  lighted  lamp  waiting  for  her  iu 
the  warm  sitting-room  ;  her  mother  was  already  in  bed.  She 
took  off  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  seated  herself  in  the  widow's 
rocking-chair.  Tears  of  humiliation  stood  in  her  eyes.  "  He 
does  not  deserve,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  I  should  havt* 
opened  my  heart  before  liim.  I  wanted  to  be  just,  for  I  thought 
that  love,  however  irapei-fect  or  mistaken,  was  always  at  least 
delicate  and  reverent.  I  thought  the  advocacy  of  moral  truth 
presupposed  some  nobility  of  soul — that  a  nature  which  ac- 
cepted such  truth  could  not  be  entirely  low  and  mean.  I  have 
allowed  a  profane  eye  to  look  upon  sanctities,  and  the  very 
effort  I  made  to  be  true  and  just  impresses  me  with  a  sense  of 
self-degradation.  What  must  I  do,  to  reconcile  my  instinctt 
with  the  convictions  of  my  mind  ?  Had  I  not  suppressed  the 
exhibition  of  my  natural  repugnance  to  that  man,  I  should  have 
been  spared  the  pain  of  this  evening — spared  the  shrinking 
shudder  which  I  must  feel  whenever  the  memory  of  it  re- 
turns." 

Gradually  her  self-examination  went  deeper,  and  she  ooo 


154  HJLNNAH   THUESTON  t 

fessed  to  herself  that  Seth's  declaration  of  love  was  in  itself  hei 
greatest  humiliation.  She  had  not  told  him  the  whole  truth, 
though  it  had  seemed  to  be  so,  when  she  spoke.  She  had  tioi 
renounced  the  dream  of  her  younger  years.  True,  she  had 
forcibly  stifled  it,  trodden  upon  it  with  the  feet  of  a  stem 
resolution,  hidden  its  ruins  from  sight  in  the  remotest 
chamber  of  her  heart — but  now  it  arose  again,  strong  in  its 
immortal  life.  Oh,  to  think  who  should  have  wooed  her  under 
the  stars,  in  far  other  words  and  with  far  other  answers — the 
man  whom  every  pulse  of  her  being  claimed  and  called  upon, 
the  man  who  never  came  !  In  his  stead  this  creature,  whose 
love  seemed  to  leave  a  stain  behind  it — whose  approach  to 
her  soul  was  that  of  an  unclean  footstep.  Had  it  come  to  this? 
Was  he  the  only  man  whom  the  withheld  treasures  of  her 
heart  attracted  towards  her?  Did  he,  alone,  suspect  the 
splendor  of  passion  which  shone  beneath  the  calmness  and 
reserve  of  the  presence  she  showed  to  the  world  ? 

It  was  a  most  bitter,  most  humiliating  thought.  With  hei 
head  drooping  wearily  towards  her  breast,  and  her  hands 
clasped  in  her  lap,  with  unheeded  tears  streaming  from  her 
eyes,  she  sought  refuge  from  this  pain  in  that  other  pain  of  the 
imagined  love  that  once  seemed  so  near  and  lovely — lovelier 
now,  as  she  saw  it  through  the  mist  of  a  gathering  despair. 
Thus  she  sat,  once  more  the  helpless  captive  of  her  dreaiDit, 
while  the  lamp  burned  low  and  the  room  grew  cold.  • 


A.  STORY    OF   AMERICAN    LIFX. 


CHAPTER    Xn. 


MOTHER   AND   DATTGHTEB. 


The  morning  came,  late  and  dark,  with  a  dreary  MarcL 
rain,  the  commencement  of  that  revolutionary  anarchy  in  the 
weather,  through  which  the  despotism  of  Winter  is  over 
thrown,  and  the  sweet  republic  of  Spring  established  on  the 
Earth.  Even  Woodbury,  as  he  looked  out  on  the  writhing 
trees,  the  dripping  roofs,  and  the  fields  of  soggy,  soaked  snoWj 
could  not  suppress  a  sigh  of  loneliness  and  yearning.  Bute, 
whose  disappointment,  bitter  though  it  was,  failed  to  counter- 
act the  lulling  warmth  of  the  blankets  after  his  ride  home 
against  the  wind,  and  who  had  therefore  slept  soundly  all 
night,  awoke  to  a  sense  of  hollowness  and  wretchedness  which 
he  had  never  experienced  before.  His  duties  about  the  bam 
attended  to,  and  breakfast  over,  he  returned  to  his  bedroom 
to  make  his  usual  Sunday  toilet.  Mr.  Woodbury  had  decided 
not  to  go  to  church,  and  Bute,  therefore,  had  nothing  but  hia 
own  thoughts,  or  the  newspapers,  to  entertain  him  through  the 
day.  Having  washed  his  neck  and  breast,  put  on  the  clean 
shirt  which  Mrs.  Babb  took  care  to  have  ready  for  him,  and 
combed  his  yellow  locks,  he  took  a  good  look  at  himself  in  the 
little  mirror. 

"  I  a'n't  handsome,  that's  a  fact,"  he  thought  to  himself 
••bat  nuther  is  she,  for  that  matter.  I've  got  good  healthy 
blood  in  me,  though,  and  if  my  face  is  sunburnt,  it  don't  look 
like  taller.  I  don't  see  why  all  the  slab-sided,  lantern-jawed, 
holler-breasted  fellows  should  have  no  trouble  o'  gittin'  wives, 
and  me,  of  a  darned  sight  better  breed,  though  I  do  say  it,  to 


r^rt  HANNAH   THUBSTON: 

have  sich  bad  luck  !  I  can't  stand  it.  Fve  got  every  thing 
here  that  a  man  could  want,  but  'ta'n't  enough.  O  Lord !  to 
think  her  children  should  have  somebody  else  than  me  for  a 
father !"' 

Bute  groaned  and  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  where  he 
thrust  both  hands  through  his  carefully  combed  hair.  His 
elrong  masculine  nature  felt  itself  wronged,  and  the  struggle 
was  none  the  less  severe,  because  it  included  no  finer  spiritua 
disappointment.  He  possessed  only  a  true,  honest,  tender 
heart,  as  the  guide  to  his  instincts,  and  these,  when  baffled, 
suggested  no  revenge,  such  as  might  occur  to  a  more  reckless 
or  more  imaginative  nature.  His  life  had  been  blameless^ 
heretofore,  from  the  simple  force  of  habit,  and  the  pure  atmos- 
phere in  which  he  lived.  To  confess  the  truth,  he  was  no\ 
particularly  shocked  by  the  grosser  experiences  of  some  of  his 
friends,  but  to  adopt  them  himself  involved  a  change  so  vio- 
lent that  he  knew  not  where  it  might  carry  him.  If  the 
thought  crossed  his  mind  at  all,  it  was  dismissed  without  a 
moment's  hospitality.  He  did  not  see,  because  he  did  not 
seek,  any  escape  from  the  sore,  weary,  thirsty  sensation  which 
his  disappointment  left  behind.  The  fibres  of  his  nature,  which 
were  accustomed  to  give  out  a  sharp,  ringing,  lusty  twang  to 
every  touch  of  Life,  were  now  mufiled  and  deadened  in  tone : 
that  was  all. 

It  might  have  been  some  consolation  to  Bute,  if  he  could 
have  known  that  his  presumed  rival  was  equally  unfortunate. 
In  the  case  of  the  latter,  however,  there  was  less  of  the  pang 
of  bliglited  hopes  than  of  tlie  spiteful  bitterness  of  wounded 
vanity.  Seth  Wattles  was  accustomed  to  look  upon  himself, 
and  not  without  grounds  of  self-justification,  as  an  unusuaJ 
man.  The  son  of  a  poor  laborer,  orphaned  at  an  early  age, 
and  taken  in  charge  by  a  tailor  of  Ptolemy,  who  brought  him 
up  to  his  own  business,  he  owed  his  education  mostly  to  a 
quick  ear  and  a  ready  tongue.  His  brain,  though  shallow, 
was  acti  e,  its  propelling  power  being  his  personal  conceit ;  but 
he  was   destitute   of  imagination,   and  hence  his    attemj)ted 


A   STOBT    OF    AMERICAN  LmC.  16^ 

flights  of  eloquence  were  often  hopelessly  confused  and  illogi- 
cal. Tl  e  pioneer  orators  of  Abolition  and  Temperance,  who 
visited  Ptolemy,  found  in  him  a  willing  convert,  and  he  was 
quick  enough  to  see  and  to  secure  the  social  consideration 
which  he  had  gained  in  the  small  community  of  "  Reformers" — 
jm  advantage  which  the  conservative  society  of  the  village  de^ 
nied  to  him.  Indeed,  the  abuse  to  which  he  was  occasionally 
subjected,  was  in  itself  flattering  ;  for  only  men  of  importance, 
he  thought,  are  thus  persecuted.  Among  his  associates,  it  was 
customary  to  judge  men  by  no  other  standard  than  their  views 
on  the  chosen  reforms,  and  he,  of  course,  stood  among  the 
highest.  His  cant,  his  presumption,  his  want  of  delicacy, 
were  all  overlooked,  out  of  regard  to  an  advocacy  of  "  high 
moral  truths,"  which  was  considered  to  be,  and  doubtless  was, 
sincere. 

Let  us  not,  therefore,  judge  the  disappointed  tailor  too 
harshly.  His  weaknesses,  indeed,  were  a  part  of  his  mental 
constitution,  and  could,  under  no  circumstances,  have  been 
wholly  cured ;  but  it  Avas  his  own  fault  that  they  had  so 
thoroughly  usurped  his  nature. 

Whatever  spiritual  disturbance  he  might  have  experienced, 
on  awaking  next  morning  to  the  realities  of  the  world,  the 
woman  who  rejected  him  was  much  more  deeply  and  painfully 
troubled.  Years  had  passed  since  her  heart  had  known  so 
profound  an  agitation.  She  felt  that  the  repose  which  she  had 
only  won  after  many  struggles,  had  deceived  herself  It  was 
a  false  calm.  The  smooth  mirror,  wherein  the  sunshine  and 
the  stars  saw  themselves  by  turns,  was  only  smooth  so  long 
as  the  south-wind  failed  to  blow.  One  warm  breath,  coming 
over  the  hills  from  some  far-off,  unknown  region,  broke  into 
fragments  the  steady  images  of  her  life.  With  a  strange  conflict 
of  feeling,  in  which  there  was  some  joy  and  much  humiliation, 
(she  said  to  herself:  "  I  am  not  yet  the  mistress  of  my  fate." 

She  rose  late,  unrefreshed  by  her  short,  broken  sleep,  and 
uncheered  by  the  dark,  cold,  and  Avet  picture  of  the  valley.  It 
was  one  of  those  days  when  only  a  heart  filled  '.o  the  brini 


1S8  HANNAn    THURSTON: 

with  unmingled  happiness  can  take  delight  in  life — when  the 
simplest  daily  duties  present  themselves  as  weary  tasks— when 
every  string  we  touch  is  out  of  tune,  and  every  work  at- 
tempted is  one  discord  the  more.  Descending  to  the  sitting- 
room,  she  found  her  mother  in  the  rocking-chair,  before  a 
brisk  fire,  while  the  little  servant-girl  was  busy,  preparing 
the  table  for  breakfast — a  work  which  Hannah  herself  usually 
performed. 

"  Thee's  rather  late,  Hannah,"  said  the  widow.  "  I  thought 
thee  might  be  tired,  and  might  as  well  sleep,  while  Jane  set 
the  table.    She  must  learn  it  some  time,  thee  knows." 

"  Pm  obliged  to  thee,  mother,"  the  daughter  replied.  "  I 
have  not  slept  well,  and  have  a  little  headache  this  morning. 
It  is  the  weather,  I  think." 

"  Now  thee  mentions  it,  I  see  that  thee's  quite  pale.  Jane, 
put  two  spoonfuls  of  tea  in  the  pot ;  or,  stay,  thee'd  better 
bring  it  here  and  let  me  make  it." 

Hannah  had  yielded  to  the  dietetic  ideas  of  her  friends,  so 
far  as  to  give  up  the  use  of  tea  and  coffee — a  step  in  which 
the  widow  was  not  able  to  follow  her.  A  few  months  before, 
the  former  would  have  declined  the  proposal  to  break  her 
habit  of  living,  even  on  the  plea  of  indisposition ;  she  would 
have  resisted  the  natural  craving  for  a  stimulant  or  a  sed- 
ative as  something  morbid;  but  now  she  was  too  listless, 
too  careless  of  such  minor  questions,  to  refuse.  The  unac- 
customed beverage  warmed  and  cheered  her,  and  she  rose 
from  the  table  strengthened  to  resume  her  usual  manner. 

"  I  thought  it  would  do  thee  good,"  said  the  widow,  noting 
the  effect,  slight  as  it  was,  with  the  quick  eye  of  a  mother. 
"  I'm  afraid,  Hannah,  thee  carries  thy  notions  about  diet  a 
little  too  far." 

"  Perhaps  thee's  right,  mother,"  was  the  answer.  She  had 
no  inclination  to  commence  a  new  discussion  of  one  of  the  few 
Bubjects  on  which  the  two  could  not  agree. 

After  the  house  had  been  put  in  order  for  the  day,  prepa- 
rations made  for  the  frugal  dinner,  and  the  servant-girl  de- 


A   STOUT    OF   AMEBIC AK   LIFE.  l50 

spatched  to  the  Cimmerian  Church,  Hannah  took  her  usual 
Beat  by  the  window,  saying :  " Shall  I  read  to  thee, mother?" 

"  If  thee  pleases." 

There  was  no  Quaker  Meeting  nearer  than  Tiberius,  and 
iwnce  it  had  been  the  widow's  custom,  on  "  First-Days," 
to  read,  or  hear  her  daughter  read,  from  the  classics  of  the 
sect.  To  Hannah,  also,  in  spite  of  her  partial  emancipation, 
there  was  a  great  charm  in  the  sweet  simplicity  and  sincerity 
of  the  (jarly  Friends,  and  she  read  the  writings  of  Fox,  Bar- 
clay, Elwrood,  and  William  Penn,  with  a  sense  of  refreshment 
and  peace.  To  these  were  added  some  other  works  of  a  similar 
character,  which  the  more  cultivated  Quakers  have  indorsed 
as  hf.mg  inspired  by  the  true  spirit — Thomas  k  Kempis, 
Jeremy  Taylor,  Madame  Guyon,  and  Pascal.  She  now  took 
the  ofY-read  "  No  Cross,  No  Crown,"  of  William  Penn,  the 
tone  of  which  was  always  consoling  to  her ;  but  this  time  its 
sweet,  serious  utterances  seemed  to  have  lost  their  effect. 
She  gave  the  words  in  her  pure,  distinct  voice,  and  strove  to 
take  them  into  her  mind  and  make  them  her  own  :  in  vain ! 
something  interposed  itself  between  her  and  the  familiar 
meaning,  and  made  the  task  mechanical.  The  widow  felt,  by 
a  sympathetic  presentiment,  rather  than  from  any  external 
evidence  which  she  could  detect,  that  her  daughter's  mind 
was  in  .some  way  disturbed ;  yet  that  respectful  reserve  which 
was  habitual  in  this,  as  in  most  Quaker  families,  prevented 
her  from  prying  into  the  nature  of  the  trouble.  If  it  was  a 
serious  concern,  she  thought  to  herself,  Hannah  would  men- 
tion it  voluntarily.  There  are  spiritual  anxieties  and  strug- 
gles, she  knew,  which  must  be  solved  in  solitude.  No  one, 
not  even  a  mother,  should  knock  at  the  door  of  that  chamber 
where  the  heart  keeps  its  privacies,  but  patiently  and  silently 
wait  until  bidden  to  approach  and  enter. 

Nevertheless,  after  dinner,  when  the  household  order  was 
again  restored,  and  Hannah,  looking  from  the  window  upon 
the  drenched  landscape,  unconsciously  breathed  a  long,  wearj 
sigh.  Friend  Thurston  felt  moved  to  speak. 


ISO  HANNAH   THURSTON  ! 

"  Hannah,"  she  said,  gravely  and  softly,  "  thee  seema  to 
have  something  on  thy  mind  to-day." 

For  a  minute  the  daughter  made  no  reply.  Turning  away 
froni  the  vrindow,  she  looked  upon  her  mother's  worn,  pale 
face,  almost  spectral  in  the  cloudy  light,  and  then  took  her 
accustomed  seat. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  she  answered,  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  I  ought 
to  tell  thee." 

"  If  thee  feels  so,  tell  me  then.  It  may  lighten  thy  own 
ourden,  without  making  mine  heavier." 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  burden,  mother,"  said  Hannah.  "  I  know 
that  I  have  done  what  is  right,  but  I  fear  that  I  may  have  un- 
consciously brought  it  upon  myself,  when  it  might  have  been 
avoided."  She  then  repeated  the  conversation  which  had 
taken  place  between  Seth  Wattles  and  herself,  omitting  only 
that  secret,  impassioned  dream  of  her  heart,  a  glimpse  of 
which  she  had  permitted  to  escape  her.  She  did  not  dare  to 
betray  it  a  second  time,  and  thus  her  own  sense  of  humiliation 
was  but  half  explained. 

Friend  Thurston  waited  quietly  until  the  story  was  finished. 
"  Thee  did  right,  Hannah,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  and  I  do 
not  think  thee  can  justly  reproach  thyself  for  having  given 
him  encouragement.  He  is  a  very  vain  and  ignorant  man, 
though  well-meaning.  It  is  not  right  to  hold  prejudice 
against  any  one,  but  I  don't  mind  telling  thee  that  my  feeling 
towards  him  comes  very  near  being  that.  Thee  never  could 
be  happy,  Hannah,  \with  a  husband  whom  thee  did  not  re* 
spect :  nay,  I  mean  something  more — whom  thee  did  not  feel 
was  wiser  and  stronger  than  thyself." 

A  transient  flush  passed  over  the  daughter's  face,  but  she 
made  no  reply. 

"  Thee  has  a  gift,  I  know,"  the  widow  continued,  "  and  thee 
has  learned  much.  There  is  a  knowledge,  though,  that  comes 
with  experience  of  life,  and  though  I  feel  my  ignorance  in 
many  ways,  compared  to  thy  learning,  there  are  some  things 
which  I  am  able  to  see  more  clearly  than  thee.     It  requires  ne 


A   STORY    OF   AMEEICAN  LTFB.  161 

book-learning  to  read  the  heart,  and  there  is  less  difference  in 
the  hearts  of  women  than  thee  may  suppose.  We  cannot  be 
wholly  independent  of  the  men  :  we  need  their  help  and  com- 
panionship :  we  acknowledge  their  power  even  while  we 
resist  it.  There  are  defects  in  us  which  we  find  supplied  in 
them,  as  we  supply  theirs  where  marriage  is  perfect  and  ho'y. 
But  we  cannot  know  this,  except  through  our  own  experience 
1  liave  agreed  with  thee  in  most  of  thy  views  about  the  rights 
of  our  sex,  but  thee  never  can  be  entirely  wise  on  this  subject 
BO  long  as  thee  remains  single.  No,  Hannah,  thee  won't 
think  hard  of  me  for  saying  it,  but  thee  does  not  yet  truly 
know  either  woman  or  man.  I  have  often  quietly  wished  that 
thee  had  not  set  thy  heart  against  marriage.  The  Lord 
seems  to  have  intended  a  mate  for  every  one,  so  that  none  of 
His  children  should  be  left  alone,  and  thee  should  not  shut 
thy  eyes  against  the  signs  He  gives. 

"  Mother !" 

Even  while  uttering  this  exclamation,  into  which  she  waa 
startled  by  the  unexpected  words  of  her  mother,  Hannah 
Thurston  felt  that  she  was  betraying  herself. 

"  Child !  child !  thy  father's  eyes — thee  has  his  very  look ! 
I  am  concerned  on  thy  account,  Hannah.  Perhaps  I  have  been 
mistaken  in  thee,  as  I  was  mistaken  in  him.  Oh,  if  I  could  have 
known  him  in  time !  I  shall  not  be  much  longer  with  thee, 
my  daughter,  and  if  I  tell  thee  how  I  failed  in  my  duty  it  may 
help  thee  to  perform  thine,  if — if  my  prayers  for  thy  sake 
should  be  fulfilled." 

The  widow  paused,  agitated  by  the  recollections  which  hei 
own  words  evoked.  The  tears  trickled  down  her  pale  cheeks, 
but  she  quietly  wiped  them  away.  Her  countenance  thus 
changed  from  its  usual  placid  repose,  Hannah  was  shocked  to 
see  how  weak  and  wasted  it  had  grown  during  the  winter. 
The  parting,  which  she  did  not  dare  to  contemplate,  might  b6 
nearer  than  she  had  anticipated. 

"  Do  not  say  any  thing  that  might  give  thee  pain,"  she 
«aid. 


162  HAlfNAH   TIIUESTOJf. 

"  Give  thyself  no  concern,  child.  It  will  bring  me  reliel. 
I  have  often  felt  moved  to  tell  thee,  but  there  seemed  to  ht 
no  fitting  time  before  now." 

"  Is  it  about  my  father  ?"  Hannah  asked. 

"  Yes,  Hannah.    I  wish  he  could  have  lived  long  enough  to 
leave  his  face  in  thy  memory,  but  it  was  not  to  be.    Thee  often 
reminds  me  of  him,  especially  when  I  feel  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  thy  nature  beyond  my  reach.    I  was  past  thy  age 
when  we  were   married,  and    he   was   no  longer  a  young 
man.      We   had    known    each    other   for    some   years,  but 
nothing  passed    between   us    that    younger    persons   would 
have  called  love.     I  was  sincerely  drawn  towards  him,  and 
it  seemed  right  that  my  life  should  become  a  part  of  his. 
It  came  to  me  as  a  natural  change.    Richard  was  not  a  man 
of  many  words;    he  was  considered  grave  and  stem;  and 
when  he  first  looked  upon  me  with  only  a  gentle  smile  on  his 
face,  I  knew  that  his  heart  had  made  choice  of  me.     From 
that  time,  although  it  was  long  before  he  spoke  his  mind,  I  ac- 
customed myself  to  think  of  him  as  my  husband.    This  may 
seem  strange  to  thee,  and,  indeed,  I  never  confessed  it  to  him. 
When  we  came  to  live  together,  and  I  found,  from  every  cir 
cxmistance  of  our  daily  life,  how  good  and  just  he  was,  how 
strong  and  upright  and  rigid  in  the  ways  that  seemed  right  to 
him,  I  leaned  upon  him  as  a  helper  and  looked  up  to  him  as  a 
guide.    There  was  in  my  heart  quite  as  much  reverence  as 
love     An  unkind  word  never  passed  between  us.      ^V^hen  I 
happened  to  be   wrong  in  any   thing,  he  knew  how  to  turn 
iny  mind  so  gently  and  kindly  that  I  was  set  right  without 
knowing  how.      ITe  was  never  wrong.     Our  married  life  was 
X  season  of  perfect  peace — yes,  to  me,  because  my  own  con 
^ntment  made  me  careless,  blind. 

"  I  sometimes  noticed  that  his  eyes  rested  on  me  with  a  sin- 
gular expression,  and  I  wondered  what  was  in  his  mind.  There 
was  something  unsatisfied  in  his  face,  a  look  that  asked  for  I 
knew  not  what,  but  more  than  the  world  contains.  Once^ 
when  I  said :  '  Is  any  thing  the  matter,  Richard  ?'  he  turned 


A    SrORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  168 

qtiicily  away  and  answered  sharply.  After  that,  1  said  noth' 
ing,  and  I  finally  got  accustomed  to  the  look.  I  recollect 
when  thy  brother  was  born,  he  seemed  like  another  man 
though  there  was  no  outward  change.  When  he  spoke  to  me 
his  voice  was  trembly,  and  sounded  strange  to  my  ears ;  but 
my  own  weakness,  I  thought,  might  account  for  that.  He 
urould  take  the  babe  to  the  window,  before  its  eyes  could  bear 
che  light ;  would  pick  it  up  when  asleep,  and  hold  it  so  tightly 
as  to  make  the  poor  thing  cry ;  then  he  would  put  it  down 
quickly  and  walk  out  of  the  room  without  saying  a  word.  I 
noticed  all  this,  as  I  lay,  but  it  gave  me  no  concern :  I  knew 
not  but  that  all  men  found  their  first  children  so  strange  and 
curious.  To  a  woman,  her  first  babe  seems  more  like  some- 
**hing  familiar  that  is  brought  back  to  her,  than  something  en- 
tirely new  that  is  added  to  her  life. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  to  make  clear  to  thy  mind  another 
change  that  came  over  thy  father  while  our  little  Richard  still 
lived.  I  never  could  be  entirely  certain,  indeed,  when  it  com- 
menced, because  I  fancied  these  things  were  passing  moods 
connected  with  his  serious  thoughts — he  was  a  man  much 
given  to  reflection — and  did  not  dream  that  they  concerned 
myself  Therein,  our  quiet,  ordered  life  was  a  misfortune. 
One  day  was  like  another,  and  we  both,  I  think,  took  things 
as  they  were,  without  inquiring  whether  our  knowledge  of 
each  other's  hearts  might  not  be  imperfect.  Oh,  a  storm  would 
have  been  better,  Hauuah — a  storm  which  would  have  shown 
us  the  wall  that  had  grown  up  between  us,  by  shaking  it  down ! 
But  thee  will  see  that  from  the  end — thee  will  see  it,  without 
my  telling  thee.  Ricbjird  seemed  graver  and  sterner,  I  thought, 
but  he  was  much  occupivid  with  business  matters  at  that  time. 
After  our  child  was  taken  from  us,  I  began  to  see  that  he  was 
growing  thinner  and  paler,  and  often  felt  very  uneasy  about 
him.  His  manner  towards  me  made  me  shy  and  a  little  afraid, 
though  I  could  pick  out  no  word  or  act  that  was  not  kind  and 
tender.  When  I  ventured  to  ask  him  what  was  the  matter,  he 
only  answered  :  '  Notliing  that  can  be  helped.'     I  knew   aftet 


164  nAN?<AH  THUESTON- 

that,  that  all  was  uot  right,  but  ray  eyes  were  not  opened  to 
the  truth." 

Here  Friend  Thurston  paused,  as  if  to  summon  strength  to 
WJntinue  her  narrative.  Her  withered  hands  were  trembling, 
and  she  clasped  them  together  in  her  lap  with  a  nervous  ener- 
gy which  did  not  escape  her  daughter's  eye.  The  latter  had 
stened  with  breathless  attention,  waiting  with  mingled  eager- 
ness and  dread  for  the  denouement,  which  she  felt  must  be 
more  or  less  tragic.  Although  her  mother's  agitation  touched 
her  own  heart  with  sympathetic  pain,  she  knew  that  the  story 
had  now  gone  too  far  to  be  left  unfinished.  She  rose,  brought 
a  glass  of  water,  and  silently  placed  it  on  the  little  table  beside 
her  mother's  chair.  When  she  had  resumed  her  seat,  the  latter 
continued : 

"  Within  a  year  after  our  boy's  death,  thee  was  born.  It 
was  a  great  consolation  to  me  then,  although  it  has  been  a  much 
greater  one  since.  I  hoped,  too,  that  it  would  have  made 
Richard  a  little  more  cheerful,  but  he  was,  if  any  thing,  quiet- 
er than  ever.  I  sometimes  thought  him  indifferent  both  to 
me  and  the  babe.  I  longed,  in  my  weakness  and  my  comfort, 
to  lay  my  head  upon  his  breast  and  rest  a  while  there.  It 
seemed  a  womanly  fancy  of  mine,  but  oh,  Hannah,  if  I  had  had 
the  courage  to  say  that  much !  Once  he  picked  thee  up, 
stood  at  the  window  for  a  long  while,  with  thee  in  his  arms, 
then  gave  thee  back  to  me  and  went  out  of  the  room  without 
saying  a  word.  The  bosom  of  thy  little  frock  was  damp,  and 
I  know  now  that  he  must  have  cried  over  thee. 

"  T  had  not  recovered  my  full  strength  when  I  saw  that  he 
was  really  ailing.  I  began  to  be  anxious  and  uneasy,  though 
I  scarcely  knew  why,  for  he  still  went  about  his  business  a- 
usual.  But  one  morning — it  was  the  nineteenth  of  the  Fifth 
month,  I  remember,  and  on  Seventh-day — he  started  to  go  to 
the  village,  and  came  back  to  the  house  in  half  an  hour,  look- 
ing fearfully  changed.  His  voice,  though,  was  as  steady  a* 
ever.  '  I  believe  I  am  not  well,  Gulielma,' he  said  to  me; 
*  Derhaos  I'd  better  lie  down  a  while.     Don't  trouble  thyself—- 


A   STORV    OF    AMEKICAK  LIFE.  168 

it  will  soon  be  over.'  I  made  him  undress  and  go  to  bed,  for 
my  anxiety  gave  me  strength.  Then  I  sent  ftir  the  doctor, 
without  telling  Richard  what  I  had  done.  It  was  evening 
when  the  doctor  came  ;  thee  was  rather  fretful  that  day,  and 
I  had  taken  thee  into  another  room,  for  fear  Riclurd  might  bft 
disturbed.  I  only  noticed  that  the  doctor  stayed  a  long  time, 
but  they  were  old  friends,  I  thought,  and  might  like  to  talk. 
By  the  time  I  had  put  thee  to  sleep,  he  had  left  and  Richard  waa 
alone.  I  went  directly  to  him.  '  What  is  thee  to  take  ?'  I  asked. 
*  !N  othing,'  he  said,  so  quietly  that  I  ought  to  have  been  relieved, 
but — I  do  not  know  how  it  was — I  turned  to  him  trembling 
like  a  leaf,  and  cried  out :  *  Richard,  thee  has  not  told  me  all !' 

"  '  Yes,  allj  Gulielma,'  said  he,  '  nothing  will  help  :  I  must 
leave  thee,'  I  stared  at  him  a  while,  trying  to  stand  still, 
while  every  thing  in  the  room  went  spinning  around  me,  until 
I  saw  nothing  more.  I  was  lying  beside  him  on  the  bed 
when  I  came  to  myself!  My  hair  was  wet :  he  had  picked  me 
up,  poured  water  on  his  handkerchief  and  bathed  my  face. 
When  I  opened  my  eyes,  he  was  leaning  over  me,  looking 
into  my  eyes,  with  a  look  I  cannot  describe.  He  breathed 
hard  and  painfully,  and  his  voice  was  husky.  '  I  have  fright- 
ened thee,  Gulielma,'  said  he ;  '  but — but  can  thee  not  resign 
thyself  to  lose  me  ?*  His  look  seemed  to  draw  ray  very  soul 
from  me ;  I  cried,  with  a  loud  and  bitter  cry,  '  Richai'd, 
Richard,  take  me  with  thee  V  and  threw  my  arms  around  his 
neck.  Oh,  my  chUd,  how  can  I  tell  thee  the  rest  ?  He  put 
away  my  arms,  he  held  me  back,  and  gasped,  as  he  looked  at 
me  with  burning  eyes  :  '  Take  care  what  thee  says,  Gulielnra  j 
I  am  dying,  and  thee  dare  not  deceive  me  ;  does  thee  love  me 
as  I  love  thee — more  than  life,  more,  the  Lord  pardon  me, 
more  than  heaven  ?'  For  the  first  time,  I  knew  that  I  did.  If  it 
was  a  sin,  it  has  been  expiated.  I  cannot  remember  what  was 
said,  after  that.  It  was  all  clear  between  us,  and  he  Avould 
allow  no  blame  to  rest  on  me;  but  he  could  not  speak,  except 
at  intervals.  He  held  my  hand  all  night,  pressing  it  Hasnilj  in 
his  sleep.     Tne  next  day  he  died. 


166  HAxxAn  TnxjKSTON": 

"  He  had  loved  me  thus  all  the  time,  Hannah,  and  it  was  the 
pride  and  the  strength  of  his  love  which  deceived  me.  He 
would  not  ask  for  a  caress  or  a  tender  word,  because  he 
thought  that  a  woman  who  loved  would  freely  give  it—  nor 
would  he  offer  one,  so  long  as  he  suspected  that  the  sacred  ex 
pression  of  his  heart  might  be  only  passively  received.  Ah,  it 
svas  a  sad  doubt  of  me  on  his  part,  a  sad  blindness  towards 
him  on  mine.  When  he  began  to  suffer  from  disease  of  the 
heart,  and  knew  that  his  life  was  measured,  his  self-torture  in- 
creased. He  purposely  tried  to  subdue  the  mild,  tempered 
affection  which  he  supposed  I  felt  for  him,  in  order  that  hia 
death  might  be  a  lighter  grief  to  me.  And  I  lived  with  him^ 
day  after  day,  never  guessing  that  his  stern,  set  manner  was 
not  his  real  self!  I  do  not  dare  to  think  on  the  cross  he  must 
have  borne :  my  own  seems  heavy,  and  my  spirit  sometimes 
grows  weary  under  it,  and  is  moved  to  complain.  Then  I  re- 
member that  by  bearing  it  cheerfully  I  am  brought  nearer  to 
him,  and  the  burden  becomes  light." 

Hannah  Thurston  listened  to  the  last  words  with  her  face 
buried  in  her  hands,  and  her  heart  full  of  pity  and  self-reproach. 
What  was  the  pang  of  her  own  fruitless  dream,  her  baffled 
ideal,  beside  the  sharp,  inconsolable  sorrow  which  consumed 
her  mother's  years  ?  What  availed  her  studies,  her  intellec- 
tual triumphs,  her  fancied  comprehension  of  life,  in  comparison 
with  tliat  knowledge  of  the  heart  of  man  thus  fearfully  won  ? 
Humble,  as  when,  a  child,  she  listened  to  her  mother's  words 
as  the  accents  of  infallible  wisdom,  she  now  bowed  dowu 
before  the  sanctity  of  that  mother's  experience. 

The  widow  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  with  closed  eyes,  but 
with  a  happy  serenity  on  her  weary  face.  Hannah  took  het 
hand,  and  whispered,  with  a  broken  voice:  "Thank  thee, 
mother !"  The  weak  old  arms  drew  her  gently  down,  and 
the  pale  lips  kissed  her  own. 

"  Bless  thee,  my  daughter.  Now  take  thy  book  and  let  mf 
rcBt  a  while." 

Hannah  took  the  book,  but  not  to  read. 


A    BTOBY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFS.  1^7 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

m  WHICH  spmira  opbks. 

Thb  rainy  Sunday  was  the  precursor  of  a  thaw,  which  lasted 
for  a  fortnight,  and  stripped  the  landscapes  of  Ptolemy  of 
every  particle  of  snow,  except  such  as  found  a  lodgment  in 
fence-corners,  behind  walls,  or  in  shaded  ravines.  The  wanda 
of  the  willow  clumps  along  the  streams  brightened  to  a  vivid 
yellow,  and  the  myriad  twigs  of  low-lying  thickets  blushed 
purple  with  returning  sap.  Frozen  nights  and  muddy  days 
enough  were  yet  in  store ;  but  with  every  week  the  sun  gained 
confidence  in  his  own  alchemy,  and  the  edge  of  the  north- wind 
was  blunted.  Yery  slowly,  indeed,  a  green  shimmer  crept 
up  through  the  brown,  dead  grass ;  the  fir-woods  breathed  a 
resinous  breath  of  awaking ;  pale  green  eyes  peeped  from  the 
buds  of  the  garden-lilacs,  and,  finally,  like  a  tender  child,  igno- 
rant of  danger,  the  crocus  came  forth  full  blown  and  shamed 
the  cowardly  hesitation  of  the  great  oaks  and  elms. 

During  this  season,  Woodbury's  intercourse  with  the  soci- 
ety of  the  village  Avas  mostly  suspended.  After  the  termina- 
tion of  the  Great  Sewing-Union,  families  fell  back  into  their 
narrower  circles,  and  rested  for  a  time  both  from  their  social 
and  their  charitable  labors.  Even  the  itinerant  prophets  and 
philanthropists  ceased  their  visits,  leaving  Ptolemy  in  its  nor- 
mal darkless.  Only  Mr.  Dyce,  it  was  whispered,  had  agaiii 
made  his  appearance  at  the  Merryfields',  where  his  spiritual 
nessions  were  attended  by  a  select  circle  of  the  initiated. 
Keither  Woodbury  nor  Mr.  Waldo  had  been  again  invited  to 
attend. 

All  minor  gossip,  however,  was  lost  sight  of,  in  the  interecS 


168  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

occasioned  by  an  event  which  occurred  about  this  time.  Mist 
Eliza  Clancy,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody,  had  at  last  re 
ceived  "  a  call."  During  a  visit  to  Syracuse,  she  had  made  tha 
acquaintance  of  the  Rev.  Jehiel  Preeks,  a  widower  who,  hav- 
ing been  driven  away  from  Tristan  d'Acunha  after  losing  his 
wife  there,  had  been  commissioned  by  the  A.  B.  C.  F.  M.  to  a 
new  field  of  labor  in  the  Telugu  country.  His  station  was  to 
be  <'uddapah,  only  a  day's  journey  from  Jutnapore.  Miss 
Eliza  displayed  such  an  intimate  knowledge  of  the  latter  mis- 
sion, derived  from  Mrs.  Boerum's  letters,  and  such  a  vital  con- 
cern in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  the  Telugus,  that  the  Rev. 
Jehiel,  at  their  third  interview,  asked  her  to  share  his  laboi'S. 
There  were  persons  in  Ptolemy  so  malicious  as  to  declare  that 
the  proposal  really  came  from  Miss  Eliza  herself;  but  this  is 
not  for  a  moment  to  be  believed.  The  missionary  made  a  bet- 
ter choice  than  such  persons  were  willing  to  admit.  Although 
verging  on  forty,  and  ominously  thin,  Miss  Clancy  was  sincere, 
active,  and  patient,  and  thought  more  of  the  heathen  souls 
whom  she  might  enlighten  than  of  the  honors  of  her  new  posj 
tion.  When  she  returned  to  Ptolemy  as  Mrs.  Preeks,  with 
her  passage  engaged  to  Madras  in  the  very  vessel  which  was 
to  carry  out  the  contributions  of  the  Mission  Fund,  she  waa 
too  thoroughly  happy  to  be  disturbed  by  the  village  gossip. 
The  other  ladies  of  the  Fund — foremost  among  them  he^ 
sister  spinsters.  Miss  Ann  Parrott  and  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson 
— immediately  resumed  Avork,  in  order  to  provide  her  with  g 
generous  outfit  for  the  voyage.  Early  in  April  the  parting 
took  place,  with  mutual  tears,  and  thenceforth  the  pious  pat 
ronage  of  Ptolemy  was  transferred  from  Jutnapore  and  Mri 
Boerum  to  Cuddapah  and  Mrs.  Preeks. 

The  Hon.  Zeno  Harder  occupied  his  seat  in  the  Legislature, 
through  the  winter.  Several  times  during  the  session  Wood- 
bury received  the  compliment  of  documents,  one  of  them  enti 
tied  :  "  Remarks  of  the  Hon.  Zeno  Harder,  of  Atauga  County, 
on  the  Mohawk  and  Adirondac  Raih-oad  Bill."  Occasionally, 
fclfo,  the  Albany  Cerbei'us  was  sent  to  him  with  one  of  the 


A   SIOEY    OF    AMEEICAJif    LIPB.  169 

leading  editorials  marked,  by  way  of  directing  his  attention 
to  it.  The  Hon.  Zeno  looked  upon  Woodbury,  who  had  been 
80  long  absent  from  the  country  as  to  have  lost  "  the  run"  of 
politics,  as  fair  prey.  By  securing  him  before  tlie  hostile  party 
had  a  chance,  he  would  gain  two  votes  (one  of  them  Bute's), 
and  possibly  more,  besides  a  President  of  character  and  sub- 
stance, for  mass-meetings.  Woodbury,  however,  was  too 
ahrewd,  and  the  Member  too  clumsy  in  his  diplomacy,  for  the 
success  of  this  plan.  The  former,  although  foreseeing  that  he 
would  be  inevitably  drawn  to  take  sides,  sooner  or  later, 
determined  to  preserve  his  independence  as  long  as  possible. 

The  churches  in  the  village  undertook  their  periodical  "  re 
vivals,"  which  absorbed  the  interest  of  the  community  while 
they  lasted.  It  was  not  the  usual  season  in  Ptolemy  for  such 
agitations  of  the  religious  atmosphere,  but  the  Methodist  cler- 
gyman, a  very  zealous  and  inipassioned  speaker,  having  initia- 
ted the  movement  with  great  success,  the  other  sects  became 
alarmed  lest  he  should  sweep  all  the  repentant  sinners  of  the 
place  into  his  own  fold.  As  soon  as  they  could  obtain  help 
from  Tiberius,  the  Baptists  followed,  and  the  Rev.  Lemuel 
Styles  was  constrained  to  do  likewise.  For  a  few  days,  the 
latter  regained  the  ground  he  had  lost,  and  seemed  about  eo 
distance  his  competitors.  Luckily  for  him,  the  Rev.  Jehiel 
Preeks  accompanied  his  wife  on  her  farewell  visit,  and  was 
immediately  impressed  into  the  service.  His  account  of  his 
sufferings  at  Tristan  d'Acunha,  embracing  a  description  of  the 
sickness  and  triumphant  death  of  his  first  wife,  melted  the  audi- 
tors to  tears,  and  the  exhortation  which  followed  was  like  seed 
planted  in  well-ploughed  ground.  The  material  for  conversion, 
drawr.  upon  from  so  many  different  quarters,  was  soon  exhaust- 
ed, but  the  rival  churches  stoutly  held  out,  until  convinced  th^t 
neither  had  any  further  advantage  to  gain  over  the  other. 

Mr.  Waldo,   of  course,  was  not    exempt  from  the  general 

necessity,  although  conscious  of  the  disadvantage  under  which 

he  labored  in  representing  so  unimportant  a  sect.     Its  founder 

had  been  a  man  of  marked  character,  whose  strong,  peculiar 

8 


170  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

I 

intellect,  combined  with  his  earnestness  of  heart,  wrought  pow 
erfullj  upon  those  with  whom  he  came  in  personal  contact,  but 
his  views  were  not  broad  enough  to  meet  the  wants  of  a  large 
class.  After  his  death,  many  of  his  disciples,  released  from  thg 
influence  of  his  personality,  saw  how  slight  a  difference  sepa- 
rated them  from  their  brethren,  and  yearned  to  be  included  in 
•  more  extensive  fold.  Among  these  was  Mr.  Waldo,  whose 
native  good  sense  taught  him  that  minor  differences  in  interpre 
tation  and  observances  do  not  justify  Christians  in  dividing  theil 
strength  by  a  multitude  of  separate  organizations.  His  congre- 
gation, however,  was  very  slowly  brought  to  view  the  mattez 
in  the  same  light,  and  he  was  too  sincerely  attached  to  its 
members  to  give  up  his  charge  of  them  while  any  prospect  of 
success  remained. 

On  this  occasion,  nevertheless — thanks  to  the  zeal  of  some  of 
hia  flock,  rather  than  his  own  power  of  wielding  the  thunder 
bolts  of  Terror — Mr.  Waldo  gained  three  or  four  solitary  fish 
out  of  the  threescore  who  were  hauled  up  from  the  deeps  by 
the  various  nets.  The  Cimmerian  rite  of  baptism  had  this  ad- 
vantage, that  it  was  not  performed  in  public,  and  its  solemnity 
was  not  therefore  disturbed  by  the  presence  of  a  crowd  of  curious 
spectators,  such  as  are  especially  wont  to  be  on  hand  when  the 
water  is  coliL  Mr.  Waldo  even  disregarded  the  peculiar  form 
of  initiation  which  characterized  his  sect,  affirming  that  it  added 
no  sanctity  to  the  rite. 

During  the  period  of  the  revivals,  there  was  a  temporary 
suspension  oi  the  social  life  of  Ptolemy.  Even  kindred  fami- 
lies rarely  assembled  at  tea  except  to  discuss  the  absorbing 
topic  and  compare  the  results  obtained  by  the  various  churches 
There  was  a  great  demand  for  Baxter's  "  Saint's  Rest, 
AUeine's   « Alarm,"    Young's   «  Night   Thoughts,"    and    Pollok'i 

Course  of  Time,"  at  the  little  bookstore.  Two  feathers  dis- 
appeared from  the  Sunday  bonnet  of  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue,  and 
the  Misses  Smith  exchanged  their  red  ribbons  for  slate-colored. 
Still,  it  was  not  the  habit  of  the  little  place  to  be  sombre ;  its 
gayety    was    never    excessive,    and    hence    its    serious    moods 


A    8T0BY    OF   AMEEICAJf   LIFE.  1^1 

never  assumed  a  penitential  character,  and  soon  wore  off  Ir 
fJiis  respect  it  presented  a  strong  contrast  to  Mulligansville 
and  Auacreon,  both  of  which  communities  retained  a  severe 
and  mournful  expression  for  a  long  time  after  their  revivKis 
had  closed. 

By  this  time  the  meadows  were  covered  with  young  giasa, 
the  willows  hung  in  folds  of  misty  color,  and  a  double  row  of 
daffodils  bloomed  in  every  garden.  The  spring  ploughing  and 
all  the  other  various  forms  of  farm  labor  commenced  in  the 
valleys,  and  on  the  warm,  frostless  hillsides.  The  roads  were 
again  dry  and  hard ;  the  little  steamer  resumed  its  trips  on  the 
lake  ;  and  a  new  life  not  only  stirred  within  the  twin  valleys, 
but  poured  into  them  from  without. 

As  the  uniformity  of  winter  life  at  Lakeside  gave  way  to 
the  changes  exacted  by  the  season,  Woodbury  became  dimly 
sensible  that  Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb,  with  all  her  virtues  as  a 
housekeeper,  stood  too  prominently  in  the  foreground  of  his 
home.  Her  raw,  angular  nature  came  so  near  him,  day  by  day, 
as  to  be  felt  as  a  disturbing  element.  She  looked  upon  her 
dominion  as  reassured  to  her,  and  serenely  continued  the  exer- 
cise of  her  old  privileges.  While  entertaining  the  profoundest 
respect,  not  unmixed  with  a  moderate  degree  of  affection,  for 
her  master,  she  resisted  any  attempt  to  interfere  with  the 
regular  course  of  household  procedure  which  she  had  long 
since  established.  He  was  stiU  too  ignorant,  indeed,  to  dis- 
pute her  authority  with  any  success,  in-doors ;  but  when  the 
gardening  weather  arrived,  and  she  transferred  her  rule  to  the 
open  air,  his  patience  was  sometimes  severely  tried. 

He  knew,  fi'om  his  boyish  days,  every  square  foot  in  the 
sunny  plot  of  ground — the  broad  alley  down  the  centre,  with 
flower-beds  on  either  side,  producing  pinks,  sweet-williams, 
larkspurs,  marigolds,  and  prince's-feathers,  in  their  succession , 
the  clun\ps  of  roses  at  regular  intervals ;  the  low  trellis,  to  be 
overrun  with  nasturtiums  and  sweet-peas;  the  broad  vegeta- 
ble beds,  divided  by  rows  of  currant  and  gooseberry  bushes, 
and  the  crooked  old  quiuce-trees  against  the  northern  wall 


1^2  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

There  were  tliey  all,  apparently  unchanged  ;  but,  reverently 
as  he  looked  upon  them  for  the  sake  of  the  Past,  he  felt  that 
if  Lakeside  was  to  be  truly  his  home,  its  features  must,  to 
some  extent,  be  moulded  by  his  own  taste.  The  old  arrange- 
ments could  not  be  retained,  simply  for  the  sake  of  the  old 
associations ;  the  place  must  breathe  an  atmosphere  of  life, 
not  of  death.  In  spite  of  the  admirable  situation  of  the  house, 
its  surroundings  had  been  much  neglected,  and  the  trained 
ej  e  of  its  master  daily  detected  new  capacities  for  beauty 

Nothing  of  all  this,  however,  suggested  itself  to  the  ossified 
brain  of  the  housekeeper.  In  her  eyes,  "Woodbury  was  but  a 
tenant  of  Mrs.  Dennison,  and  that  lady  would  cry  down  from 
Paradise  to  forbid  the  position  of  her  favorite  plants  and  her 
trees  from  being  changed.  Hence,  Mrs.  Babb  was  almost 
petrified  with  astonishment,  one  warm  morning,  on  Woodbui-y 
saying  to  her,  as  they  stood  in  the  garden  ; 

"  I  shall  extend  the  garden,  so  as  to  take  in  another  half- 
acre.  The  ground  must  be  first  prepared,  so  it  can  scarcely 
be  done  this  spring ;  but,  at  least,  this  first  row  of  currants 
can  be  taken  up  and  set  beyond  the  second.  The  vegetables 
will  then  be  partly  hidden  from  sight,  and  these  beds  can  be 
planted  with  flowers." 

"  O,  the  land  !"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper.  "  Did  a  body 
ever  hear  o'  sich  a  thing  !  Where'U  you  get  your  currans  for 
pics,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  They  won't  bear  a  mite  if  you  take 
'em  up  now.  Besides,  where  am  I  to  plant  peas  and  early 
beans,  if  you  put  flowers  here?" 

"  There,"  said  Woodbury,  pointing  to  the  other  end  of  the 
garden. 

"  Why,  I  had  'em  there  last  summer.  Here,  where  these 
oabbages  was,  is  the  right  place.  To  my  thinkin',  there's 
flowers  enough,  as  it  is.  Not  that  I'd  take  any  of  'em  up : 
the  was  always  fond  of  'em,  and  she  was  satisfied  with  my 
fixin'  of  the  garden.  But  there's  them  that  thinks  they  knows 
better.  'T'an't  any  too  big  as  it  was,  and  if  you  take  off  all 
this  here  ground,  we'll  run  out  o'  vegetables  afore  the  sum'. 


A   STOBY   OF   A:MERICAU    LIFE.  178 

tner^s  over.  Then,  I'll  git  the  blame,  all  over  the  neighbor 
hood.    People  knows  I  'tend  to  it." 

"  Mrs.  Babb,"  said  Woodbury,  a  little  sternly,  "  I  shall  take 
care  that  your  reputation  does  not  suffer.  It  is  my  intention 
to  engage  an  experienced  gardener,  who  will  take  all  thi> 
work  off  your  hands,  for  the  future.  But  the  improvements  I 
intend  to  make  cannot  be  carried  out  immediately,  and  I  must 
ask  you  to  superintend  the  planting,  this  spring.  You  shall 
have  sufficient  ground  for  all  the  vegetables  we  need,  and  it 
can  make  little  difference  to  you  where  they  grow." 

The  housekeeper  did  not  venture  upon  any  further  remon- 
strance, but  her  heart  was  filled  with  gall  and  bitterness.  She 
could  not  deny  to  herself  Woodbury's  right  to  do  what  he 
pleased  with  his  own,  but  such  innovations  struck  her  as  be- 
ing almost  criminal.  They  opened  the  door  to  endless  con- 
fusions, which  it  distressed  her  to  contemplate,  and  the  end 
whereof  she  could  not  foresee. 

That  evening,  as  Bute  was  shelling  his  seed-corn  in  the 
kitchen,  he  noticed  that  her  thin  lips  were  a  little  more  tightly 
compressed  than  usual,  while  she  plied  her  knitting-needles 
with  an  energy  that  betrayed  a  serious  disturbance  of  mind. 
Bute  gave  himself  no  concern,  however,  well  knowing  that, 
whatever  it  was,  he  should  hear  it  in  good  time. 

Mrs.  Babb  sighed  in  her  usual  wheezy  manner,  drawing  up 
and  lotting  down  her  shoulders  at  the  same  time,  and  knit  a 
few  minutes  longer,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  kitchen  clock. 
At  last  she  said  :  "  Ah,  yes,  it's  well  she's  gone." 

Bute  looked  up,  but  as  she  was  still  inspecting  the  clock,  he 
naid  nothing. 

"  I  was  afeard  things  couldn't  stay  as  they  was,"  she  again 
remarked. 

Bute  picked  up  a  fresh  ear,  and  began  grinding  the  butt- 
end  with  a  cob,  to  loosen  the  grains. 

"  It's  hard  to  see  sich  things  a-corain'  on,  in  a  body's  old 
days,"  groaned  the  housekeeper.  This  time  her  gaze  was  r& 
moved  from  the  clock,  and  fell  grimly  upon  her  adopted  son 


174  HAKNAH   THURSTON  ' 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mother  Forty  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Matter,  Bute  ?     I  should  think  you'd  ha'  seen  it,  if  yoa 
was  in  the  habit  o'  seein'  farder  than  your  nose.     Things  i 
goin'  to  wrack,  fast  enough.     He  will  have  his  way,  no  rnatt^ 
how  onreasonable  it  is." 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  he?  But  as  for  bein'  unreasonably 
I  don't  see  it.  He's  gettin'  the  hang  of  farmin'  matters  ama- 
ein'ly,  and  is  goin'  to  let  me  do  what  I've  been  wantin*  to, 
these  five  year.  Wait  till  we  get  the  gewano,  and  phosphate, 
and  drainin'  and  deep  plougliin',  and  you  won't  see  such 
another  farm  in  the  hull  county." 

"  Yes,  and  the  garden  all  tore  to  pieces,"  rejoined  the  house 
keeper ;  "  if  she  could  come  out  of  her  grave  next  year,  she 
won't  know  it  ag'in.  And  me,  that's  tended  to  it  this  ever  so 
long,  to  have  a  strange  man,  that  nobody  knows,  stuck  over 
my  head  !" 

Bute  bent  his  face  over  the  ear  of  com,  to  conceal  a 
malicious  smile.  He  knew  that  all  the  housekeeper  wanted, 
was  to  "  speak  out  her  mind" — after  which  she  would  resign 
herself  to  the  inevitable.  He  accordingly  made  no  further 
reply,  and  commenced  whistling,  very  softly,  "  Barbara 
Allen,"  a  tune  which  of  late  seemed  to  harmonize  with  his 
mood. 

Woodbury,  on  his  part,  was  conscious  of  a  restless  stirring 
of  the  blood,  for  which  his  contact  with  the  housekeeper  was 
in  the  least  degree  responsible.  Her  figure,  nevertheless, 
foi-med  a  hard,  sharp,  rocky  background,  against  which  was 
projected,  in  double  sweetness  from  the  contrast,  the  soft  out- 
lines of  a  younger  form,  glimmering  indistinctly  through  a 
mist  which  concealed  the  face. 

He  did  not  deceive  himself.  He  saw  that  his  apparent  in- 
dependence was  a  belligerent  condition,  in  which  ce  could 
never  find  adequate  peace  ;  but  not  for  this  reason — not  from 
any  cool  calculations  of  prudence — did  he  long  to  see  the 
household  of  Lakeside  governed  by  its  legitimate  mistress. 
If  the  long  years  of  summer  had  made  his  heart  apathetic  oi 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  l7& 

indifferent,  it  had  not  deadened  his  nature  to  the  suhtle  magio 
of  s])ring.  A  more  dehcate  languor  than  tBat  of  the  tropics 
crept  over  him  in  the  balmy  mornings  ;  all  sounds  and  odors 
of  tae  season  fostered  it,  and  new  images  began  to  obtrude 
upon  his  sleeping  as  well  as  his  waking  dreams.  He  knew 
the  symptoms,  and  rejoiced  over  the  reappearance  of  the  old 
disease.  It  was  not  now  the  fever  of  youth,  ignorantly  given 
up  to  its  own  illusions.  He  could  count  the  accelerated  pulsa- 
tions, hold  the  visions  steadily  fast  as  they  arose  in  his  brain, 
and  analyze  while  he  enjoyed  them.  Love  and  Experience 
must  now  go  hand  in  hand,  and  if  an  object  presented  itself, 
the  latter  must  approve  while  the  former  embraced. 

Reviewing,  in  his  mind,  the  women  whom  he  knew,  there 
was  not  one,  he  confessed  to  himself,  whom  he  would  ever, 
probably,  be  able  to  love.  His  acquaintances  in  New  York 
were  bright,  lively  girls — ^the  associates  of  his  nieces — in  some 
of  whom,  no  doubt,  there  was  a  firm  basis  of  noble  feminine 
character.  It  could  not  be  otherwise;  yet  the  woman  who 
must  share  his  seclusion,  finding  in  him,  principally,  her 
society,  in  his  home  her  recreation,  in  his  happiness  her  own, 
could  scarcely  be  found  in  that  circle.  Coming  back  to  Ptole- 
my, his  survey  was  equally  discouraging.  He  could  never 
overlook  a  lack  of  intellectual  culture  in  his  wife.  Who  pos- 
sessed that,  unless,  indeed,  Hannah  Thurston  ?  She,  i^e  ad- 
mitted, had  both  exquisite  taste  and  a  degree  of  culture  re- 
markable for  the  opportunities  she  enjoyed ;  but  a  union  with 
her  would  be  a  perpetual  torment.  She,  with  her  morbid 
notions  of  right,  seeing  an  unpardonable  sin  in  every  innocent 
personal  habit !  Wliat  little  she  had  observed  of  his  external 
life  had  evidently  inspired  her  with  a  strong  dislike  of  him ; 
how  could  she  bear  to  know  him  as  he  was — to  look  over  the 
pages  of  his  past  life  ?  His  wife,  he  felt,  must  be  allowed  no 
illusions.  If  she  could  not  find  enough  of  truth  and  manliness 
in  Us  heart  to  counterbalance  past  errors  and  present  defects, 
she  should  find  no  admittance  there. 

In  spite  of  these  unavailing  reviews,  one  important  result 


176  HANNAU  thubston: 

was  attained.  He  would  no  longer,  as  beretofore,  shrink  from 
the  approach  of  love.  From  whatever  quarter  the  guost 
might  come,  the  door  should  be  found  open,  and  the  word 
"  Welcome,"  woven  of  the  evergreen  leaves  of  immortal 
longing,  should  greet  the  arrivaL 


A  ktOBY   OF   AMERICAN   LlTX.  1*^ 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

OUITAIN^G     COKVrEESATIONS     MORE     IMPORTANT    THAN     lUE^ 
SEEM  TO   BE. 

One  balmy'afternoon,  when  the  dandelions  were  beginning  to 
show  their  golden  disks  among  the  grass,  Woodbury  started  on 
foot  for  Ptolemy,  intending  to  take  tea  with  the  Waldos,  whom 
he  had  not  seen  for  a  fortnight.  Sauntering  along  the  road, 
at  the  foot  of  the  eastern  hill,  with  the  dark,  pine-fringed  rocks 
and  the  sparkling  cascade  on  one  hand,  and  the  fresh,  breath- 
ing meadows  on  the  other,  he  found  himself,  at  last,  at  the 
end  of  the  lane  leading  to  the  Merryfield  farm-house,  and 
paused,  attracted  by  the  roseate  blush  of  a  Judas-tree  in  the 
garden.  The  comfortable  building,  with  its  bam  and  out- 
houses, seemed  to  bask  in  happy  warmth  and  peace,  half-hid- 
den in  a  nest  of  fruit-trees  just  bursting  into  bloom.  The 
fences  around  them  had  been  newly  whitewashed,  and  gleamed 
like  snow  against  the  leafing  shrubbery.  An  invigorating 
smell  of  earth  came  from  the  freshly-ploughed  field  to  the  south. 
Every  feature  of  the  scene  spoke  of  order,  competence,  and 
pastoral  contentment  and  repose. 

In  such  a  mood,  he  forgot  the  occasional  tedium  of  the 
fanner's  talk,  and  the  weak  pretensions  of  his  wife,  and  only 
remembered  that  he  had  not  seen  them  for  some  time.  Turning 
into  the  lane,  he  walked  up  to  the  house,  where  he  was  cordi- 
ally received  by  Mr.  Merryfield.  "Come  in,"  said  the  latter i 
"  Sarah's  looking  over  seeds,  or  something  of  the  kind,  with 
Miss  Thurston,  but  she'll  be  down  presently.  You  recollect 
Mr.  Dyce  ?"     The  lust  words  were  spoken  as  they  entered  tbf 

8* 


]*tk  HAKNAH   TlIUBSTOKi 

room,  where  tlie  medium,  with  his  sallow,  unwholesome  face, 
K.at  at  an  open  window,  absorbed  in  the  perusal  of  a  thick 
pamphlet.  He  rose  and  saluted  "Woodbury,  though  by  no 
means  with  cordiality. 

"  How  delightful  a  home  you  have  here,  Mr.  Merryfield," 
Woodbury  said.  "  You  need  not  wish  to  change  places  with 
any  one.  An  independent  American  farmer,  with  his  affairi. 
in  such  complete  order  that  the  work  almost  goes  on  of  il> 
self,  from  year  to  year,  seems  to  me  the  most  fortunate  of 
men." 

"  Well — yes — 1  ought  to  be  satisfied,"  answered  the  host : 
"  I  sometimes  wish  for  a  wider  spere,  but  I  suppose  it's  best 
as  it  is." 

"  Oh,  be  sure  of  that !"  exclaimed  Woodbury :  "  neither  ifl 
your  sphere  a  narrow  one,  if  it  is  rightly  filled." 

"  Nothing  is  best  as  it  is,"  growled  Mr.  Dyce,  from  the  win- 
dow, at  the  same  time;  "private  property,  family,  isolated 
labor,  are  all  wrong." 

Woodbury  turned  to  the  speaker,  with  a  sudden  doubt  of 
his  sanity,  but  Mr.  Merryfield  was  not  in  the  least  surprised. 

"  You  know,  Mr.  Dyce,"  said  he,  "  that  I  can't  go  that  far. 
The  human  race  may  come  to  that  in  the  course  of  time,  as  it 
were,  but  I'm  too  old  to  begin." 

"Nobody  is  too  old  for  the  Truth,"  rejoined  the  medium,  so 
insolently  that  Woodbury  felt  an  itching  desu*e  to  slap  him  in 
the  face, — "especially,  when  it's  already  demonstrated.  Here's 
the  whole  thing,"  he  continued,  giving  the  pamphlet  a  whack 
on  the  window-sill :  "  read  it,  and  you'll  find  how  much  bettor 
off  we  are  without  those  selfish  institutions,  marriage  and  the 
right  to  property." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Woodbury. 

"  It's  the  annual  report  of  the  Perfectionists.  They  have  a 
community  near  Aqueai.'da,  where  their  principles  are  put  in 
practice.  Every  thing  is  in  common :  labor  is  so  divided  that 
no  one  feels  the  burden,  yet  all  live  comfortably.  The  children 
are  brought  up  all  together,  and  so  the  drudgery  of  a  family  it 


A  STOBY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  17* 

avoided.    Besides,  love  is  not  slaveiy,  but  freedom,  and  tbe 
affections  are  true  because  they  do  not  wear  legal  chains." 

"  Good  God !  Is  this  true  ?"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  turning 
tc  Mr.  Merryfield. 

"  I  believe  it  is,"  he  answered.  "  Tve  read  part  of  the  re- 
port, and  there  are  queer  things  in  it.  Even  if  the  doctrine  Ls 
right,  I  don't  think  mankind  is  fit  for  it  yet.  I  shouldn't  like 
even,  to  let  everybody  read  that  book :  though,  to  be  sure, 
we  might  be  much  more  outspoken  than  we  are." 

"Read  it,"  said  Mr.  Dyce,  thrusting  the  pamphlet  into 
Woodbury's  hand.  "It's  unanswerable.  If  you  are  not 
blinded  by  the  lies  and  hypocrisies  of  Society,  you  will  see 
what  the  true  life  of  Man  should  be.  Society  is  the  Fall,  sir, 
and  we  can  restore  the  original  paradise  of  Adam  whenever 
we  choose  to  free  ourselves  from  its  tyranny." 

"  No  doubt,  provided  we  are  naturally  sinless,  like  Adam,' 
Woodbury  could  not  help  saying,  as  he  took  the  pamphlet. 
He  had  no  scruples  in  receiving  and  reading  it,  for  he  was  not 
one  of  those  delicate,  efieminate  minds,  who  are  afraid  to  look 
on  error  lest  they  may  be  infected.  His  principles  were  so 
well-based  that  every  shock  only  settled  them  the  more  firmly. 
He  had  never  preferred  ignorance  to  unpleasant  knowledge, 
and  all  of  the  latter  which  he  had  gained  had  not  touched  the 
Bound  manliness  of  his  nature. 

"  We  are !"  cried  Mr,  Dyce,  in  answer  to  his  remark. 
"  The  doctrine  of  original  sin  is  the  basis  of  all  the  wrongs  of 
society.  It  is  false.  Human  nature  is  pure  in  all  its  instincts, 
and  we  distort  it  by  our  selfish  laws.  Our  life  is  artificial  and 
nnnatural.  If  we  had  no  rights  of  property  we  should  have 
no  theft :  if  we  had  no  law  of  marriage  we  should  have  no  li- 
centiousness :  if  we  had  no  Governments,  we  should  have  no 
war." 

Mr.  Merryfield  did  not  seem  able  to  answer  these  declara- 
tions, absurd  as  they  were,  and  Woodbury  kept  silent,  from 
self-respect.  The  former,  however,  was  stronger  in  his  instincts 
than  in  his  powers  of  argument,  and  shrank,  with  a  senile  0^ 


180  IIANNAU   THUliSTON  : 

painful  repugnance,  from  a  theory  which  he  was  unable  to  oom- 
bat.  Mr.  Dyee's  prolonged  visit  was  beginning  to  be  disar 
greeable  to  him.  His  ambition  to  be  considered  a  prominent 
reformer  was  his  weak  side,  and  his  freely-offered  hospitality 
o  the  various  apostles  had  given  him  a  consideration  which 
misled  him.  His  kindness  had  thus  frequently  been  imposed 
npon,  but  the  secret  fear  of  losing  his  place  had  prevented  him 
hitherto,  from  defending  himself 

Mr.  Dyce,  on  the  other  hand,  was  one  of  those  men  who  are 
not  easily  shaken  off.  He  led  a  desultory  life,  here  and  there, 
through  New  York  and  the  New  England  States,  presiding  at 
spiritual  sessions  in  the  houses  of  the  believers,  among  whom 
he  had  acquired  a  certain  amount  of  reputation  as  a  medium. 
Sometimes  his  performances  were  held  in  public  (admittance 
ten  cents),  in  the  smaller  towns,  and  he  earned  enough  in  this 
way  to  pay  hir  necessary  expenses.  When  he  discovered  a  be- 
lieving family,  in  good  circumstances,  especially  where  the 
table  was  well  supplied,  he  would  pitch  his  tent,  for  days,  or 
weeks,  as  circumstances  favored.  Such  an  oasis  in  the  desert 
of  existence  he  had  found  at  Mr.  Merryfield's,  and  the  discom- 
fort of  the  meek  host  at  his  prolonged  stay,  which  would  have 
been  sufficiently  palpable  to  a  man  of  the  least  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing, was  either  unnoticed  by  him,  or  contemptuously  ignored. 

Woodbury  read  the  man  at  a  glance,  and  received,  also,  a 
faint  suspicion  of  Mr.  Merryfield's  impatience  at  his  stay ;  but 
he,  himself,  had  little  patience  with  the  latter's  absux'dities,  and 
was  quite  content  that  he  should  endure  the  punishment  he 
had  invoked. 

Putting  the  pamphlet  in  his  pocket,  and  turning  to  Mr.  Dyce, 
he  said :  "  I  shall  read  this,  if  only  to  find  out  the  point  at 
which  Progress  becomes  Reaction-  -where  Moral  Reform 
shakes  hands  with  Depravity." 

The  medium's  sallow  face  grew  livid,  at  the  firm  coolness 
with  ^^  hich  these  words  were  spoken.  He  half-started  from  hig 
seat,  but  sank  back  again,  and  turning  his  head  to  the  wiudoWi 
gave  a  conten-ptuo  IS  snort  from  his  thin  nostrils. 


A   STORY   OF   AMEBIC  AST   LIFK.  181 

"There  is  mischief  in  tliat  man,"  thought  Woodbury, 

Mr.  Merryfield,  in  spite  of  his  trepidation — for  he  was  a 
diorough  physical  coward,  and  the  moral  courage  on  which  he 
plumed  himself  was  a  sham  article,  principally  composed  of 
ranity — nevertheless  felt  a  sense  of  relief  from  Woodbury's 
composed,  indifferent  air.  Here,  at  least,  was  one  man  who 
oould  meet  the  vampire  unconcernedly,  and  drive,  if  need  be, 
a  stake  through  his  gorged  carcass.  For  once,  he  regretted 
that  he  did  not  possess  a  similar  quality.  It  was  almost  resist- 
ance, he  was  aware,  and  the  man  capable  of  it  might  probably 
be  guilty  of  the  crime  (as  he  considered  it)  of  using  physical 
force ;  but  he  dimly  recognized  it  in  a  refreshing  element  of 
strength.  He  did  not  feel  quite  so  helpless  as  usual  in  Wood- 
bury's presence,  after  that. 

Still,  he  dreaded  a  continuance  of  the  conversation.  "Will 
you  come,  as  it  were" — said  he ;  "  that  is,  would  you  like" 

Woodbury,  who  had  turned  his  back  upon  Mr.  Dyce,  after 
speaking,  suddenly  interrupted  him  with :  "  How  do  you  do, 
Mrs.  Merryfield  ?" 

The  mistress  of  the  house,  passing  through  the  hall,  had 
paused  at  the  open  door.  Behind  her  came  Hannah  Thurston* 
in  her  bonnet,  with  a  satchel  on  her  arm. 

After  the  greetings  were  over,  Mrs.  Merryfield  said :  "  We 
were  going  into  the  garden." 

"  Pray,  allow  me  to  accompany  you,"  said  Woodbury. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  care  about  flowers  and  things." 

The  garden  was  laid  out  on  the  usual  plan  :  a  central  alley, 
bordered  with  flower-beds,  vegetables  beyond,  and  currants^ 
planted  along  the  fence.  It  lay  open  to  the  sun,  sheltered  by 
a  spur  of  the  eastern  ridge,  and  by  the  orchard  to  the  left  of  the 
house.  In  one  corner  stood  a  Judas-tree,  every  spray  thickly 
hung  with  the  vivid  rose-colored  blossoms.  The  flowers  wer« 
farther  advanced  than  at  Lakeside,  for  the  situation  was  muoh 
lower  and  warmer,  and  there  had  been  no  late  frosts.  The 
hyacinths  reared  their  blue  and  pink  pagodas,  filling  the  walk 
with  their  opulent  breath  ;  the  thick  green  buds  of  the  tulipi 


189  HAIWAH   THURSTON  : 

began  to  show  points  of  crimson,  and  the  cushiony  masses  oi 
mountain-pink  fell  over  the  boarded  edges  of  the  beds. 

Mrs.  Merryfield  had  but  small  knowledge  of  floriculture.  Her 
beds  were  well  kept,  however,  but  from  habit,  rather  than  taste. 
"  My  pineys  won't  do  well,  this  year,  I  don't  think,"  said  she : 
'•  this  joon-dispray  rose  is  too  near  them.  Here's  plenty  of 
larkspurs  and  coreopsisses  coming  up,  Hannah ;  don't  you  want 
Bome  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  my  garden  is  wild  with  them,"  Miss  Thurston 
answered,  "  but  I  will  take  a  few  plants  of  the  flame-colored 
marigold,  if  you  have  them  to  spare." 

"  Oh,  that's  trash  ;  take  them  aU,  if  yon  like." 

"  Miss  Thurston,"  said  Woodbury,  suddenly,  "  would  yoi 
like  to  have  some  bulbs  of  gladeolus  and  tiger-lily  ?  I  have  just 
received  a  quantity  from  Rochester." 

"  Very  much  indeed  :  you  are  very  kind,"  she  said.  "  How 
magnificent  they  are,  in  color!"  The  next  moment,  she  was 
vexed  at  herself  for  having  accepted  the  offer,  and  said  no 
more. 

Mrs.  Merryfield,  having  found  the  marigolds,  took  up  a 
number  and  placed  them  in  a  basket,  adding  various  other 
plants  of  which  she  had  a  superfluity.  As  they  left  the  gar- 
den, Woodbury  quietly  took  the  basket,  saying :  "  I  am  walk- 
ing to  Ptolemy  also,  Miss  Thurston." 

It  was  impossible  to  decline  his  company,  though  the 
undefinable  sense  of  unrest  with  which  his  presence  always 
affected  her,  made  the  prospect  of  the  walk  far  from  agreeable. 
>Side  by  side  they  passed  down  the  lane,  and  Jiad  nearly  gained 
the  highway,  when  Woodbury  broke  the  silence  by  saying  : 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Dyce?" 

Hannah  Thurston  was  a  little  startled  by  the  unexpected 
question.  "I  have  scarcely  formed  an  opinion,"  she  answered : 
"  it  may  not  be  just  to  decide  from  impressions  only.  If  I  did 
BO,  the  decision  would  not  be  favorable  to  him." 

*'You  are  right!"  lie  exclaimed,  with  energy.  "Do  not 
Bpeak  to  him  again !     I  beg  pardon,"  he  added,  apologetically 


A   8T0EY    OF   AMEBICAN   LIFE.  184 

**I  did  not  mean  to  be  dictatorial;  but  the  man  is  thoroughly 
&l8e  and  bad." 

"Do  you  know  any  thing  of  him  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Only  what  I  have  myself  observed.  I  have  learned  t« 
trust  my  instincts,  because  I  find  that  what  we  caU  instinct  it 
only  a  rapid  and  subtle  faculty  of  observation.  A  man  can 
never  completely  disguise  himself,  and  we  therefore  see  him 
most  truly  at  the  first  glance,  before  his  powers  of  deception 
can  be  exercised  upon  us." 

"It  may  be  true,"  she  said,  as  if  speaking  to  herself,  "but 
one's  prejudices  are  so  arbitrary.  How  can  we  know  that  we 
are  right,  in  yielding  to  them?" 

For  a  moment,  a  sharp  retort  hovered  on  Woodbury's 
tongue.  How  can  we  know,  he  might  have  said,  that  we  are 
right  in  accepting  views,  the  extreme  character  of  which  is 
self-evident?  How  can  we,  occupying  an  exceptional  place, 
dare  to  pronounce  rigid,  unmitigated  judgment  on  all  the  rest 
of  mankind  ?  But  the  balmy  spring  day  toned  him  to  gentle- 
ness. The  old  enchantment  of  female  presence  stole  over  him, 
as  when  it  surrounded  each  fair  face  with  a  nimbus,  to  the  nar- 
cotized vision  of  youth.  One  glance  at  his  companion  swept 
away  the  harsh  words.  A  tender  gleam  of  color  flushed  her 
cheeks,  and  the  lines  of  her  perfect  lips  were  touched  with  a 
pensive  softness.  Her  eyes,  fixed  at  the  moment  on  the  hill 
beyond  the  farther  valley,  were  almost  as  soft  as  a  violet  in  hue 
He  had  never  before  seen  her  in  the  strong  test  of  sunshine, 
and  remarked  that  for  a  face  like  hers  it  was  no  disenchant- 
ment. She  might  be  narrow  and  bigoted,  he  felt,  but  she  was 
nevertheless  true,  earnest,  and  pure. 

"  We  are  not  required  to  exhibit  our  prejudices,"  he  said 
"In  Society,  disagreeable  persons  are  stUl  individuals,  and 
have  certain  c'ainis  upon  us.  But,  after  all  the  latitude  we  are 
required  to  grant,  a  basis  of  character  must  be  exacted.  De 
you  think  a  man  consciously  false  and  depraved  should  be  tol 
erated  on  account  of  a  coincidence  in  opinions?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  she  replied- 


164  fiANNAH  THURSTON  t 

Woodbury  then  related  the  incident  of  the  piano.  He  b© 
gan  to  feel  a  friendly  pity  for  the  girl  walking  besiie  him. 
Her  intense  earnestness,  he  saw,  and  her  ignorance  of  the  true 
nature  of  men,  were  likely  to  betray  her,  as  in  the  present  case, 
into  associations,  the  thought  of  which  made  him  shudder,  lie 
would  at  least  save  her  from  this,  and  therefore  told  the  story, 
with  an  uncomfortable  sense,  all  the  while,  of  the  pamphlet  in 
tiis  pocket. 

Hannah  Thurston  was  unfeignedly  shocked  at  the  deception 
of  Mr.  Dyce.  "  I  am  glad  you  have  told  me  this,"  said  she, 
"for  I  wanted  a  justification  for  avoiding  him.  Have  you 
mentioned  it  to  the  Merryfields  ?" 

"No." 

''Why  not?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  you  know  that  they  are  too  infatuated 
with  the  spiritual  delusion  to  believe  it.  He  would  have  an 
explanation  ready,  as  he  had  that  night.  Moreover,  it  would 
cost  Bute,  who  gave  me  the  details  in  confidence,  the  loss  of 
two  friends.     For  his  sake  let  it  still  be  confidential." 

She  met  his  deep  brown  eyes,  and  bowed  in  reply.  He 
plucked  the  stalk  of  a  dandelion,  as  they  went  along,  pinched 
off  the  flower,  split  the  lower  end,  and  putting  it  into  his 
mouth,  blew  a  tiny  note,  as  from  a  fairy  trumpet.  His  man- 
ner was  so  serious  that  Hannah  Thurston  looked  away  lest  he 
should  see  her  smile. 

"  You  are  laughing,  I  know,"  said  he,  taking  the  stalk  from 
his  mouth,  "  and  no  wonder.  I  suddenly  recollected  having 
blown  these  horns,  as  a  boy.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  boy- 
ish, to  see  spring  again,  for  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years.  1 
wonder  if  the  willow  switches  are  too  dry.  Henry  Denison 
and  I  used  to  make  very  tolerable  flutes  of  them,  but  we  never 
oould  get  more  than  four  or  five  notes." 

"  Then  you  value  your  early  associations  ?"  she  asked. 

*'  Beyond  all  others  of  my  life,  I  think.  Is  it  not  pleasant, 
to  look  back  to  a  period  when  every  thing  was  good,  when  aU 
men  and  women  were  iniinite]y  wise  and  benevolent,  when  life 


A   StOliY    OF   AMERICAlf  tiFE.  186 

took  care  of  itself  and  the  future  was  whatever  you  chose  to 
make  it?  Now,  when  I  know  the  world — know  it,  Miss 
Thurston" — and  his  voice  was  grave  and  sad — "  to  be  far 
worse  than  you,  or  any  other  pure  woman  suspects,  and  still 
keep  my  faith  in  the  Good  that  shall  one  day  be  triumphant^ 
I  can  smile  at  my  young  ignorance,  but  there  is  still  a  glory 
around  it.     Do  you  know  Wordsworth's  Ode  ?" 

"  Yes — '  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land.'  " 

"  Never — until  after  it  has  gone  by.  We  look  back  and  see 
it.  Why,  do  you  know  that  I  looked  on  Mrs.  Merryfield  as  a 
Greek  must  have  looked  on  the  Delphian  Pythoness  ?" 

Hannah  Thurston  laughed,  and  then  suddenly  checked  her- 
self. She  could  not  see  one  of  her  co-workers  in  the  Great 
Cause  ridiculed,  even  by  intimation.  The  chord  he  had 
touched  ceased  to  vibrate.  The  ease  with  which  he  recov- 
ered from  a  deeper  tone  and  estabhshed  conversation  again  in 
mental  shallows,  annoyed  her  aU  the  more,  that  it  gratified 
some  latent  instinct  of  her  own  mind.  She  distrusted  the 
influence  which,  in  spite  of  herself,  Woodbury  exercised  upon 
her. 

"  I  see  your  eyes  wander  off  to  the  hills,"  he  said,  after  an 
interval  of  silence.  "  They  are  very  lovely  to-day.  In  this 
spring  haze  the  West  Ridge  appears  to  be  as  high  as  the 
Jura.  How  it  melts  into  the  air,  far  up  the  valley !  The 
effect  of  mountains,  I  think,  depends  more  on  atmosphere 
than  on  their  actual  height.  You  could  imagine  this  valley  to 
be  one  of  the  lower  entrances  to  the  Alps.  By  the  way.  Miss 
Thurston,  this  must  have  given  you  a  suggestion  of  them. 
How  did  you  manage  to  get  such  a  correct  picture  in  your 
mind  ?" 

She  turned  her  surprised  face  full  towards  him.  The 
dreamy  expression  which  softened  its  outline,  and  hovered 
in  the  luminous  depth  of  her  eyes,  did  not  escape  him. 

"Oh,  I  know  it,"  he  added,  laughing.  "What  was  the 
floug  you  sang  at  Mr.  Bue's  ?  Something  about  an  Alpine 
hunter :   it  made  me    think   I   was   standing   on   the  Schei 


186  HAITNAH   THtJRSlON  : 

deck,  watching  the  avalanches  tumbling  down  from  the  Jung 
frau." 

"  You  have  been  in  Switzerland,  Mr.  Woodbui7 1"  8h« 
exclaimed,  with  animation. 

"  Yes,  on  my  way  from  England  to  India." 

He  described  to  her  his  Swiss  tour,  inspired  to  prolong  the 
uarrative  by  the  eager  interest  she  exhibited.  The  landscapes 
of  the  higher  Alps  stood  clear  in  his  memory,  and  he  had  the 
faculty  of  translating  them  distinctly  into  words.  Commenc- 
ing with  the  valley  of  the  Reuss,  he  took  her  with  him  over 
the  passes  of  the  Furca  and  the  Grimsel,  and  had  only  reached 
the  falls  of  the  Aar,  when  the  gate  of  the  Widow  Thurston's 
cottage  shut  down  upon  the  Alpine  trail. 

"  We  will  finish  the  trip  another  time,"  said  Woodbury,  as 
he  opened  the  gate  for  her. 

"  How  much  I  thank  you !  I  seem  to  have  been  in  Switzer- 
land, myself.  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  sing  the  song  better, 
from  knowing  its  scenery." 

She  offered  him  her  hand,  which  he  pressed  cordially.  **  I 
should  like  to  call  upon  your  mother  again,"  he  said. 

"  She  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

As  he  walked  down  the  street  towards  the  Cimmerian  par- 
sonage, his  thoughts  ran  somewhat  in  this  wise :  "  How  much 
natural  poetry  and  enthusiasm  that  girl  has  in  her  nature !  It 
is  refreshing  to  describe  any  thing  to  her,  she  is  so  absorbed  in 
receiving  it.  What  a  splendid  creature  she  might  have  be- 
come, under  other  circumstances !  But  here  she  is  hopelessly 
warped  and  distorted.  Nature  intended  her  for  a  woman  and 
a  wife,  and  the  r(1le  of  a  man  and  an  apostle  is  a  monstrous  per- 
version.  I  do  not  know  whether  she  most  attracts  me  throngh 
what  she  might  have  been,  or  repels  me  through  what  she  is. 
She  suggests  the  woman  I  am  seeking,  only  to  show  me  how 
vain  the  search  must  be.    I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  give  it  up." 

Pursuing  these  reflections,  he  was  about  passing  the  parson- 
age without  recognizing  it,  when  a  cheery  voice  rang  out  tc 
him  from  the  open  door : 


A   STORY    OP   AMEKICAN   UFB.  185f 

"  Have  you  lost  the  way,  Mr.  Woodbury  ?" 

"'Not  lost,  but  gone  before,'  "  said  he,  as  he  lurDed  back 
to  the  gate. 

"What  profanity!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo,  though  she 
laughed  at  the  same  time.  "  Come  in :  our  serious  season  is 
over.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  keep  a  melancholy  face,  for  two 
Weekfi  longer,  to  encourage  the  new  converts,  but  what  is  one 
to  do,  when  one's  nature  is  dead  against  it  ?" 

"  Ab^  Mrs.  Waldo,"  replied  Woodbury,  "if  you  snflTered 
under  your  faith,  instead  of  rejoicing  in  it,  I  should  doubt  your 
Christianity.     I  look  upon  myself  as  one  of  your  converts." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  given  to  backshding." 

"  Only  for  the  pleasure  of  being  reconverted,"  said  he ;  "  but 
come — be  my  mother-confessoress.  I  am  in  great  doubt  and 
perplexity." 

"  And  you  come  to  a  woman  for  help  ?     Delightful !" 

"  Even  so.  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  to  me,  when 
I  picked  you  up  out  of  the  wreck,  last  winter  ?  But  I  see  you 
do  not.     Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  is  a  tyra  it." 

Mrs.  Waldo  was  not  deceived  by  this  mock  lamentation. 
He  would  not  first  have  felt  the  tyranny  now,  she  knew,  imless 
a  stronger  feeling  made  it  irksome. 

"  Ah  ha  !  you  have  found  it  out,"  she  said.  "  Well — ^you 
know  the  remedy." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it ;  but  what  I  do  not  know  is — the  woman 
who  should  take  her  place." 

"  Don't  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  with  a  sigh,  "  then,  of 
course,  I  do  not." 

"  I  walked  fi*om  Merryfield's,  this  afternoon,  with  Hannaik 
Thurston,"  he  presently  remarked. 

"  Well?"  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  What  a  perversion  of  a  fine  woman !  I  lose  my  tem- 
per when  I  think  of  it.     I  came  very  near  being  rude  to  her." 

"  You  rude  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  then  she  must  have 
provoked  you  beyond  endurance." 

"  Not  by  any  thing-  she  said,  but  simply  by  what  she  is,** 


188  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

"  What,  pray  ?" 

"  A  '  strong-minded  woman.'  Heaven  keep  me  from  all 
such  I  I  have  will  enough  for  two,  and  my  household  shall 
never  have  more  than  one  bead." 

"  That's  sound  doctrine,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  hearing  the  lait 
Tord*  as  he  entered  the  room. 


A   STOBT    OF   AHEBICAX  LIFB.  1J9 


CHAPTER    XV. 

WHICH    COMBS  NEAR  BETSTG  TBAGIC. 

In  the  beginning  of  June,  the  Merryfields  received  ad 
ditional  guests.  Among  their  acquaintances  in  New  Yort 
city  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whitlow,  whom  they  had  met  during 
the  Annual  Convention  of  the  Anti-Slavery  Society.  Mr. 
Whitlow  was  a  prosperous  grocer,  who  had  profited  by  selling 
"  free  sugar"  at  two  cents  a  pound  more  than  the  product  of 
slave  labor,  although  the  former  was  an  inferior  article.  He 
was  very  bitter  in  his  condemnation  of  the  Manchester  manu- 
facturers, on  account  of  their  consumption  of  cotton.  The 
Merryfields  had  been  present  at  a  tea-party  given  by  him  to 
Mr.  Wendell  Phillips,  and  the  circumstance  was  not  forgotten 
by  their  hosts.  When  the  latter  shut  up  their  house  in  the 
respectable  upper  part  of  Mercer  street,  in  order  to  make  a 
summer  trip  to  Lake  Superior  by  way  of  Niagara,  they  de- 
termined to  claim  a  return  for  their  hospitality.  Tea  in  Mercer 
street  was  equivalent,  in  their  eyes,  to  a  week's  entertainment 
at  Ptolemy.  If  not,  they  could  invite  the  Merryfields  again, 
at  the  next  Convention,  which  would  certainly  balance  the 
account. 

Accordingly,  one  fine  evening,  the  stage  from  Atauga  City 
brought  to  Ptolemy,  and  a  carriage  from  Faii^amb's  Uvery- 
ttable  forwarded  to  the  Merryfield  farm,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whit 

ow,  and  their  two  daughters,  Mary  WoUstonecraft  Whitlow, 
Aged  thirteen,  and  Phillis  Wheatley  Whitlow,  aged  nine 
—  together  with  four  trunks.  The  good-natured  host  was 
overwhelmed  with  this  large  and  unexpected  visit,  and  feebly 

ndeavored  to  obtain  a  signal  from  his  wile  as  to  whether  thfij 


190  HANNAH   THUKSTOif: 

could  be  conveniently  accommodated,  during  the  bustle  of 
arrivaL 

"  If  I  had  knowed,  as  it  were,  that  you  were  coming," 
said  he. 

"  Oh,  we  thought  we  would  take  you  by  surprise :  it's  so 
,  luch  pleasanter,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Whitlow,  a  tall,  gaunt 
woman,  who  displayed  a  pair  of  large  feet  as  she  clambered 
down  from  the  carriage.  She  thereupon  saluted  Mrs.  Merry- 
field  with  a  loss  which  sounded  like  the  splitting  of  a 
dry  chip. 

Mary  Wollstonecraft  and  PhUlis  Wheatley  scampered  off 
around  the  house  and  into  the  garden  as  soon  as  they  touched 
ground.  They  amused  themselves  at  first  by  pulling  up  the 
early  radishes,  to  see  how  long  their  roots  were,  but  after  a 
while  were  attracted  by  the  tulips,  and  returned  to  ths  house 
with  handfuls  of  the  finest. 

"Where  did  you  get  those?"  said  their  mother;  "I  am 
afraid  they  have  taken  too  many,"  she  added,  turning  towards 
Mrs.  Merryfield,  "  but  the  dear  children  are  so  fond  of  flowers. 
I  think  it  elevates  them  and  helps  to  form  their  character. 
The  Beautiful  and  the  Good,  you  know,  are  one  and  the  same." 

"  Yes,  but  it  ought  to  be  directed,"  replied  Mrs.  Merryfield, 
without  exactly  knowing  what  she  was  saying.  She  saw,  in 
imaginiition,  her  garden  stripped  bare,  and  was  meditating 
how  she  could  prevent  it.  Her  husband  put  a  padlock  on  the 
gate  next  morning,  and  in  the  course  of  the  forenoon  Phillia 
Wheatley  was  discovered  hanging  by  her  frock  from  t-ha 
paling. 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  The  Whitlows  had  come  to  stay, 
and  they  stayed.  Mr.  Dyce  was  obliged  lo  give  up  his  oc- 
cupancy of  the  best  bedroom,  and  take  a  small  chamber  under 
the  roof.  Merryfield  hoped,  but  in  vain,  that  this  new  dis- 
comfort would  drive  him  away.  The  new-comers  were  ao- 
quaintances  of  his,  and  although  not  spiritualists,  yet  they  were 
very  free  to  discuss  the  peculiar  doctrines  of  the  Aqueanda 
community. 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAK  LIFK.  191 

Day  by  day,  Mrs.  Merry  field  saw  her  choice  hams  and  her 
cherished  fowls  disappearing  before  the  onslaught  of  her 
guests.  Her  reserve  of  jams  and  marmalades  was  so  drawn 
upon  that  she  foresaw  its  exhaustion  before  the  summer's  fruit 
could  enable  her  to  replenish  it.  Mary  WoUstonecraft  and 
lliillis  Wheatley  were  especially  destructive,  in  this  respect, 
and  very  frankly  raised  a  clamor  for  "  preserves,"  when  there 
happened  to  be  none  on  the  table.  Their  mother  mildly  tol- 
erated this  infraction  of  good  behavior  on  their  part. 

"  They  make  themselves  at  home,"  she  would  remark,  turn- 
ing to  the  hostess  with  an  amiable  smile.  "  I  think  we  should 
allow  some  liberty  to  the  dietetic  instincts  of  children.  Alcott 
Bays,  you  know,  that  '  like  feeds  like — the  imclean  spirit  licks 
carnage  and  blood  from  his  trencher.' " 

"  Gracious  me !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Merryfield,  shuddering. 

"  Yes :  and  in  the  scale  of  Correspondences  saccharine  sub- 
stances are  connected  with  gentleness  of  heart.  I  rejoice  to 
see  this  development  in  the  dear  children.  Do  you  preserve 
with  free  sugar  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  hostess,  with  a  faint  salmon-colored  blush, 
"  we  can't  get  it  in  Ptolemy.  I  should  like  to  bear  testimonj 
in  this  way,  if  it  was  possible,  but  there  are  so  few  in  this 
neighborhood  who  are  interested  in  the  cause  of  Humanity, 
that  we  cannot  do  as  much  as  we  desire." 

"Why  don't  you  apply  to  me?"  said  Mr.  Whitlow.  "No- 
thing easier  than  to  buy  two  or  three  barrels  at  a  time,  and 
have  it  sent  by  rail.  It  will  cost  you  no  more  than  this"— - 
putting  a  spoonful  of  quince  jelly  into  his  mouth — *'  which  is 
stained  with  the  blood  of  the  slave."  He  said  nothing,  how- 
ever, about  the  quality  of  the  sugar,  which  was  a  very  coarHe, 
brown  article,  purporting  to  come  from  Port-au-Prince. 

Fortunately,  Mr.  Merryfield's  corn  had  been  planted  before 
the  arrival  of  his  guests.  Otherwise,  there  would  have  been  a 
serious  interference  with  his  farming  operations.  Every 
pleasimt  afternoon,  the  Wiiitlows  laid  claim  to  his  carriage  and 
hoises,  and,  accepting  the  services  of  Mr.  Dyce  as  coachman) 


192  ttAKNAH   tHtrRSTOH: 

drove  up  and  down  the  valleys,  and  even  to  the  summits  of 
the  hills,  to  obtain  the  best  views.  The  very  freedom  with 
which  they  appropriated  to  their  use  and  comfort  all  the  ap- 
pliances which  the  farm  furnished,  imposed  upon  their  kind- 
liearted  hosts.  In  the  eyes  of  the  latter,  claims  so  openly 
•jiade  involved  the  existence  of  a  right  of  some  kind,  thougl 
jirecisely  what  the  right  was,  they  could  not  clearly  under- 
stand. 

When  Mrs.  Whitlow,  therefore,  whose  devotion  to  "Na- 
ture" was  one  of  her  expressed  characteristics,  proposed  a 
pic-nic  for  the  following  Saturday  afternoon,  it  was  accepted 
without  demur,  as  one  of  the  ordinances  of  Destiny.  The 
weather  had  suddenly  grown  warm,  and  the  deciduous  trees 
burst  into  splendid  foliage,  the  luxuriant  leaves  of  summer  still 
wearing  the  fresh  green  of  spring-time.  All  the  lower  portion 
of  the  valley,  and  its  cleft  branches  beyond  Ptolemy,  from 
rim  to  rim  of  the  enclosing  hills,  hummed  and  stirred  with 
au  overplus  of  life.  The  woods  were  loud  with  birds ;  a  tiny 
overture  of  insect  horns  and  drums,  in  the  meadows,  preluded 
the  drama  of  their  ephemeral  life ;  the  caues  of  maize  shot  the 
brown  fields  with  points  of  shining  green,  and  the  wheat  be- 
gan to  roll  in  shallow  ripples  under  the  winds  of  the  lake. 
Mrs.  Whitlow's  proposal  was  well-timed,  in  a  land  where  the 
beautiful  festival  of  Pentecost  is  unknown,  and  it  did  the 
Merryfields  no  harm  that  they  were  forced,  against  their  habit, 
to  celebrate  the  opening  season. 

Not  more  than  a  mile  from  the  farm-house  there  was  a  spot 
admirably  adapted  for  the  purpose.  It  was  a  favorite  resort, 
duiing  the  summer,  of  the  young  gentlemen  and  ladiea  of 
■*tolemy,  and  sometimes,  even,  had  been  honored  by  the  visit 
f  ft  party  from  Tiberius.  Roaring  Brook,  which  had  its  I'ise 
ome  miles  distant,  among  the  hollows  of  the  upland,  issued 
from  a  long  glen  which  cleft  East  Atauga  Hill  at  the  point 
where  it  bent  away  from  the  head  of  the  lake,  to  make  its 
wider  sweep  around  to  the  cape  beyond  Lakeside.  At  this 
point  there  was  a  slightly  shelving  terrace,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 


A   STORY    01    AMEICICAN   LIFB.  10]| 

in  breadth,  thrust  out  like  the  corner  of  a  pedestal  upon  which 
the  hill  had  formerly  rested.  The  stream,  after  lending  a  part 
of  its  strength  to  drive  a  saw-mill  at  the  mouth  of  the  glen, 
passed  swiftly  across  the  terrace,  twisting  its  way  through 
broken,  rocky  ground,  to  the  farther  edge,  whence  it  tumbled 
n  a  cataract  to  the  valley.  The  wall  of  rock  was  crowned 
with  a  thick  growth  of  pine,  cedar,  maple,  and  aspen  trees,  and 
the  stream,  for  the  last  hundred  yards  of  its  course,  slid 
through  deep,  cool  shadows,  to  flash  all  the  more  dazzlingly 
into  the  sunshine  of  its  falL  From  the  brink  there  were  lovely 
vi.'iws  of  the  valley  and  lake;  and  even  within  the  grove,  as 
far  as  a  flat  rock,  which  served  as  a  table  for  the  gay  parties, 
penetrated  glimpses  of  the  airy  distance. 

The  other  members  of  the  little  band  of  "  Reformers  "  in 
Ptolemy  were  invited  to  take  part  in  the  pic-nic.  The  Whit- 
lows desired  and  expected  this,  and  would  have  considered 
themselves  slighted,  had  the  invitations  been  omitted.  Mrs. 
Waldo  was  included,  at  the  request  of  Hannah  Thurston,  who 
knew  her  need  of  recreation  and  her  enjoyment  of  it.  Be- 
sides, she  was  sure  that  Mr.  Dyce  would  be  there,  and  sus- 
pected the  presence  of  Seth  Wattles,  and  she  felt  the  advan- 
tage of  being  accompanied  by  a  brave  and  sensible  friend. 
Mr.  Waldo  was  obliged  to  attend  a  meeting  of  the  Trustees 
of  the  Cimmerian  Church,  and  so  the  two  women,  taking  pos- 
session of  his  phlegmatic  horse  and  superannuated  gig,  started 
early  in  the  afternoon  for  the  appointed  spot.  Before  reaching 
the  gate  to  the  farm-house,  they  overtook  Seth  Wattles  and 
Mr.  Tanner,  on  foot,  the  latter  carrying  his  flute  in  his  hand. 
He  was  celebrated  throughout  the  neighborhood  for  his  per- 
formance of  '•'■Love  KoV^  and  "  The  Pirate's  Serenade^'  on 
that  instrument. 

The  spot  was  reached  by  following  the  highway,  past  the 
foot  of  Roariug  Brook  cataract,  and  then  taking  a  side-road 
which  led  across  the  embayiug  curve  of  the  valley  and,  ascen- 
ded to  the  saw-mill  at  the  mouth  of  the  glen.  Some  of  the 
party  had  gone  directly  across  the  fields  from  the  Merryfield 
9 


194  uANXAii  TuuESTOir: 

farm-bouse,  as  there  was  one  point  in  the  rocky  front  of  the 
terrace  where  an  ascent  was  practicable  without  danger.  Thus 
they  nearly  all  met  in  the  grove  at  the  same  time. 

'rhe  day  was  warm  and  still,  oppressively  sultry  in  the  sun* 
shine,  but  there,  under  the  trees  and  beside  the  mossy  rocks, 
the  swift  brook  seemed  to  bring  a  fresh  atmosphere  with  it, 
out  of  the  heart  of  the  hills.  A  light  wind,  imperceptible  else- 
where, softly  rustled  among  the  aspen-leaves,  and  sighed  off 
from  the  outer  pine-boughs  into  the  silence  of  the  air.  The 
stream,  swollen  by  late  rains,  yet  cleansed  of  their  stain,  ran 
deep  and  strong,  curving  like  bent  glass  over  the  worn  rocks 
in  its  bed,  with  a  suppressed  noise,  as  if  hoarding  its  shout  for 
the  leap  from  the  cliff.  The  shade  was  sprinkled  with  patches 
of  intense  golden  light,  where  the  sun  leaked  through,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  place  seemed  to  say,  in  every  feature,  "I  wait 
for  color  and  life."  Both  were  soon  given.  The  Whitlow 
children,  in  pink  frocks,  scampered  here  and  there;  Mrs. 
Waldo's  knot  of  crimson  ribbon  took  its  place,  like  a  fiery  trop- 
ical blossom,  among  the  green;  Mrs.  Merryfield  hung  her 
orange-colored  crape  shawl  on  a  bough ;  and  even  Seth's  un- 
gainly figure  derived  some  consistency  from  a  cravat  of  sky- 
blue  satin,  the  ends  of  which  hung  over  his  breast.  Mr.  Tan- 
ner screwed  together  the  pieces  of  his  flute,  wet  his  lips  several 
times  with  bis  tongue,  and  played,  loud  and  shrill,  the  "  Mac- 
gregor's  Gathering." 

"  The  moon's  on  the  lake  and  the  mist's  on  the  brae," 

sang  Hannah  Thurston  to  herself,  as  she  stood  on  the  edge  of 
the  stream,  a  little  distance  from  the  others.  The  smell  of  the 
moss,  and  of  the  woolly  tufts  of  imrolling  ferns,  powerfully  ex- 
cit(Kl  and  warmed  her  imagination.  She  was  never  heard  to 
say,  in  such  a  spot,  like  many  young  ladies,  "How  romantic  !" 
but  her  eyes  seemed  to  grow  larger  and  darker,  her  pale  cheek 
glowed  without  an  increase  of  color,  and  her  voice  was  thrilled 
with  an  indescribable  mixture  of  firmness  and  sweetness.  Thih 
was  her  first  true  enjoyment  of  the  summer.    The  anxiety  oo 


A   8T0BY   OF   AMEBIC  4JI   LTPB.  195 

oasioned  by  her  mother's  failing  health,  the  reawakening  of 
dreams  she  had  once  conquered,  the  painful  -Bense  of  incom- 
pleteness in  her  own  aspirations,  and  the  growing  knowledge 
of  unworthiness  in  others,  which  revealed  more  clearly  nei 
spiritual  isolation,  were  all  forgotten.  She  bathed  her  soU  in 
the  splendor  of  summer,  and  whatever  pain  remained  was  not 
distinguishable  from  that  which  always  dwells  in  the  heart  of 
joy. 
As  she  reached  the  line : 

"  O'er  the  peak  of  Ben  Lomond  the  galley  shall  steer," 

a  coarse  bass  voice  behind  her  joined  in  the  song.  She  turned 
and  beheld  Seth  Wattles  and  Dyce,  seated  on  a  rock.  They 
had  been  listening,  and  might  have  heard  her  to  the  end,  had 
not  the  former  been  too  anxious  to  display  his  accomplish- 
ments. Her  repugnance  to  both  the  men  had  unconsciously 
increased,  and  she  could  no  longer  resist  the  impulse  which 
prompted  her  to  avoid  them.  Mary  WoUstonecraft  was  fortu- 
nately at  hand,  in  the  act  of  chewing  fern-stems,  and  Hannah 
Thurston,  unacquainted  with  the  young  lady's  "  dietetic  in- 
stincts," seized  her  arm  in  some  alarm  and  conducted  her  to 
her  mother. 

"  Let  go !"  cried  the  girl ;  "  mamma  lets  me  eat  what  I 
please." 

"  But,  my  dear,"  mildly  expostulated  the  mother,  *'  these 
are  strange  plants,  and  they  might  not  agree  with  you." 
'     "  I  don't  care ;  they're  good,"  was  the  amiable  reply. 

"  Would  you  not  rather  have  a  cake  ?"  said  Mrs.  Waldo, 
coming  to  the  rescue.  "  I  have  some  in  my  basket,  and  will 
bring  you  one,  if  you  will  not  put  those  stems  in  your  mouth." 

"  I  was  playing  cow,  but  I'll  stop  if  you'll  bring  me  two." 

Mrs.  Waldo  took  her  way  towards  the  old  gig,  which  waa 
left,  with  the  other  vehicles,  at  the  edge  of  the  grove.  As  she 
emerged  from  the  shade,  and  looked  up  towards  the  saw-mill, 
where  the  sawyer,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  was  tilting  about  over 
a  pile  of  scant  ling,  she  saw  a  horseman  coming  down  the  glen 


106  HANMAH    TIltTRSTOlf: 

"oad.  Something  in  his  appearance  caused  her  to  stop  and 
Bcan  him  more  closely.  At  the  same  instant  he  perceived  her, 
turned  his  horse  out  of  the  road,  and  cantered  lightly  up  to 
the  grjve, 

"  You  here !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  is  it  a  camp-meeting  ?" 

"You  there,  Mr.  Woodbury!  Where  have  you  been? 
Are  you  to  monopolize  all  the  secular  enjoyments  ?  No  ;  it  is 
a  pic  nic,  small,  but  select,  though  I  say  it." 

"  Ah !  who  are  here  ?"  he  asked,  leaning  forward  on  bis 
horse  and  peering  into  the  shade — "  My  God  I" 

Mrs,  Waldo,  watching  his  countenance  with  merry  eyes,  saw 
a  flush  of  horror,  quick  as  lightning,  pass  over  it.  With  one 
bound  he  was  off  the  horse,  which  sprang  away  startled,  and 
trotted  back  towards  the  road.  The  next  instant  she  saw  him 
plunge  headlong  into  the  stream. 

Phillis  Wheatley,  in  whom  the  climbing  propensity  was  at 
its  height,  had  caught  sight  of  a  bunch  of  wild  scarlet  colum- 
bine, near  the  top  of  a  rock,  around  which  the  stream  turned. 
Scrambling  up  the  sloping  side,  she  reached  down  for  the 
flowers,  which  were  still  inaccessible,  yet  so  near  as  to  be  tan- 
talizing. She  then  lay  down  on  her  face,  and,  stretching  her 
arm,  seized  the  bunch,  at  which  she  jerked  with  all  her  force. 
The  roots,  grappling  fast  in  the  crevices  of  the  rock,  did  not 
give  way  as  she  expected.  On  the  contrary,  the  resistance  of 
the  plant  destroyed  her  own  balance,  and  she  whirled  over 
into  the  water. 

Woodbury  saw  her  dangerous  position  on  the  rock,  at  the  • 
very  moment  the  catastrophe  occurred.  With  an  instant  inta 
ition,  he  perceived  that  the  nearest  point  of  the  stream  was  i 
bend  a  little  below ;  a  few  bounds  brought  him  to  the  bank. 
in  time  to  plunge  in  and  catch  the  pink  frock  as  it  was  swept 
down  the  swift  current.  He  had  no  time  to  think  or  calculate 
chances.  The  stream,  although  not  more  than  four  or  five 
feet  deep  and  twenty  in  breadth,  bore  him  along  with  such 
force  that  he  found  it  impossible  to  gain  his  feet.  At  the  last 
turn  where  the  current  sheered  toward  the  opposite  bank,  a 


A   STOKT   OP    AMERlCAK  LIPB.  IM 

■hrab  hung  over  the  watet.  His  eye  caught  it,  and,  half 
springing  up  as  he  dashed  along,  he  seized  it  with  one  hand 
The  momentary  support  enabled  him  to  resist  the  current  suf- 
ficiently to  get  his  feet  on  the  bottom,  but  they  could  gain  n^ 
hold  on  the  slippery  rock.  As  he  slipped  and  caught  altei 
nately,  in  a  desperate  struggle,  Phillis,  struggling  blindly  witb 
him,  managed  to  get  her  arms  around  his  neck.  Thin  as  they 
were,  they  seemed  to  have  the  muscular  power  of  snakes,  and, 
in  his  hampered  condition,  he  found  it  impossible  to  loosen 
her  hold.  The  branch  of  the  shrub  gave  way,  and  the  resist 
less  current  once  more  bore  them  down. 

Mrs.  Waldo's  fearful  shriek  rang  through  the  grove,  and 
startled  the  light-hearted  company  from  their  discussion  of  the 
evils  of  Society.  Every  one  felt  that  something  dreadful  had 
happened,  and  rushed  towards  the  sound  in  helpless  and  un- 
certain terror.  She  was  already  on  the  bank  of  the  stream, 
her  hair  torn  by  the  branches  through  which  she  had  plunged, 
and  her  face  deadly  pale,  as  she  pointed  to  the  water,  gaspmg 
"  Help  !"  One  glance  told  the  whole  story.  Mrs.  Whitlow 
covered  her  face  and  dropped  on  the  ground.  Merryfield 
and  the  father  ran  down  the  bank,  stretching  out  their 
hands  with  a  faint  hope  of  catching  the  two  as  the  current 
brought  them  along.  Hannah  Thurston  looked  around  in  a 
desperate  search  for  some  means  of  help,  and  caught  sight  of  a 
board  which  had  been  placed  across  two  low  rooks,  for  a  seat. 
'*  The  board — quick  !"  she  cried,  to  Seth  and  Dyce,  who  stood 
as  if  paralyzed — "  at  the  head  of  the  fall !"  Mechanically,  but 
as  rapidly  as  possible,  they  obeyed  her. 

Woodbury,  after  letting  go  his  hold  of  the  shrub,  turned 
his  face  with  the  stream,  to  spy,  in  advance,  some  new  point 
of  escape.  He  saw,  a  hundred  feet  ahead,  the  sharp  edge  of 
silver  where  the  sun  played  on  the  top  of  the  fall :  the  sudden 
turns  of  the  stream  were  all  behind  him,  and  it  now  curved 
gradually  to  the  right,  slightly  widening  as  it  approached  tha 
brink.  His  perceptions,  acting  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning, 
told  him  that  he  must  either  gain  the  left  bank  before  makin? 


198  TIAJWAII   THURSTON": 

half  the  remaining  distance,  or  keep  in  the  middle  of  the  our 
rent,  and  trust  to  the  chance  of  grasping  a  rock  which  rose  a 
little  above  the  water,  a  few' feet  in  advance  of  the  fall.  Ha 
was  an  experienced  swimmer,  but  a  few  strokes  convinced 
him  that  the  first  plan  would  not  succeed.  Before  reaching 
the  rock  the  water  grew  deeper,  and  the  current  whirled  ia 
•trong  eddies,  which  would  give  him  some  little  power  to  di 
rect  his  course.  In  a  second  they  seethed  around  him,  and 
though  the  bottom  fell  away  from  under  his  feet,  he  felt  a  Bud 
den  support  from  the  back  water  from  the  rock.  One  tremer 
dous  effort  and  he  reached  it. 

To  the  agonized  spectators  on  the  bank,  the  scene  was  terri- 
ble. Unable  to  avert  their  eyes  from  the  two  lives  sweeping 
rike  a  flash  to  destruction — ^feeling,  instinctively,  that  there 
was  no  instantaneous  power  of  action  which  could  save — they 
ottered  low,  incoherent  eiies,  too  benumbed  to  speak  or  think. 
Only  Seth  and  Dyce,  who  had  conveyed  the  board  to  the  head 
of  the  fall,  were  hurriedly  endeavoring  to  thrust  it  out  over 
che  water.  In  their  excitement  they  had  placed  it  too  low  to 
reach  the  rock. 

"  Bring  it  further  up  !'*  shouted  Mr.  Whitlow. 

Seth,  nervously  attempting  to  slide  it  up  the  bank,  allowed 
ihe  outer  end  to  drop  into  the  current.  It  was  instantly  twist- 
ed out  of  his  hands  and  whirled  over  the  fall. 

Woodbury  had  gained  a  firm  hold  of  the  rock,  but  the 
water  was  up  to  his  shoulders,  the  conflicting  currents  tugged 
him  this  way  and  that,  and  he  was  unable  to  clasp  bis  charge 
lecurely.  Her  arms  were  still  tight  about  his  neck,  but  if  her 
•trength  should  give  way,  their  situation  would  become  criti- 
cal.    He  saw  the  effort  made  for  their  rescue,  and  its  failure.    ' 

"  Another  board  !"  he  shouted. 

Seth  and  Dyce  darted  through  the  grove  in  search  of  one, 
while  Merryfield,  more  practical,  made  off  with  his  utmost 
speed  for  the  saw-mill.  Hannah  Thurston,  in  spite  of  her  re^ 
lief  at  the  escape,  recognized  the  danger  which  still  impended. 
A  single  glance  showed  her  the  difficulty  under  which  Wood 


▲  STOBY   OF  AMEBICA2f  LIVB.  109 

bury  labored,  and  a  sickening  anxiety  again  overcame  her 
To  stand  still  was  impossible ;  but  what  could  she  do  ?  On  a 
Btnmp  near  her  lay  a  fragment  of  board  about  four  feet  in 
\ength.  The  distance  from  the  bank  to  the  rock  was  at  least 
twelve.  Another  glance  at  the  rapid  current,  and  an  ide% 
^hich,  it  seemed  to  her  afterwards,  some  passing  angel  must 
*iave  let  fall,  flashed  through  her  brain.  Snatching  her  silk 
inmmer-shawl  from  the  bough  where  it  hung,  she  tied  one  end 
of  it  tightly  around  the  middle  of  the  board,  drawing  it  to  a 
firm  knot  on  the  edge.  Mrs.  Waldo  was  no  less  quick  in  com- 
prehending what  she  intended.  By  the  time  the  knot  was  tied, 
her  own  and  Mrs.  Merryfield's  shawls  were  brought  and  quickly 
fastened,  one  to  another.  By  this  means  a  length  considerably 
greater  than  the  breadth  of  the  stream  was  obtained. 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  breathlessly,  aa 
she  took  the  scarf  from  her  neck.  Knotting  one  end  and 
drawing  the  other  through,  so  as  to  form  a  running  noose,  she 
fastened  it  to  her  shawl,  near  the  board.  Her  plan  came  to 
her  in  a  complete  form,  and  hence  there  was  no  delay  in  put- 
ting it  into  execution.  Taking  her  stand  on  a  point  of  the 
bank,  some  feet  above  the  rock  where  Woodbury  clung,  she 
gathered  the  shawls  in  loose  links  and  held  the  board  ready  to 
throw.  Woodbury,  whose  position  was  such  that  he  could 
see  her  movements  without  risking  his  hold,  now  called  to  her : 

"  As  far  as  you  can  throw  !" 

Mrs.  Waldo  had  followed  to  the  bank,  and  stood  behind 
Hannah  Thurston,  grasping  a  handful  of  her  dress,  lest  she, 
too,  should  lose  her  balance.  But  excitement  gave  Hannah 
firmness  of  nerve,  when  other  women  trembled.  She  flung  the 
board  with  a  steady  hand,  throwing  the  weight  of  the  shawls, 
as  much  as  possible,  with  it.  It  fell  beyond  the  centre  of  the 
current,  whirled  around  once  or  twice  upon  an  eddy,  and  was 
sheering  back  towards  the  bank  again,  when  Woodbury, 
whispering  to  Phillis,  "  Hold  fast,  darling !"  put  out  one  hand 
and  caught  it.  With  some  difliculty,  and  with  more  risk  to 
himself  than  the  two  anxious  women  on  the  bank  were  aware 


200  HANNAU   THURSTON: 

of,  he  drew  tbe  wet,  sticky  slip- noose  of  the  scarf  over  PhillU*! 
head  and  one  arm,  bringing  it  under  her  elbow  before  he  could 
loosen  her  hold  upon  his  neck.  Thrusting  the  board  under  thig 
arm,  it  was  an  easier  task  to  disengage  the  other. 

"Wind  the  end  of  the  shawl  around  that  sapling  beside 
you  !''  he  called  to  Hannah  Thurston.  "  One  of  you  go  below 
to  meet  her." 

Mrs.  Waldo  was  on  the  spot  before  his  words  were  finished. 

"  Now,  hold  fast,  my  little  girl,  and  you  will  be  safe  in  a 
minute.     Ready !"  he  cried. 

Phillis  obeyed,  rather  through  blind  trust  in  him,  than  from 
her  consciousness  of  what  was  going  on.  The  poor  creature 
was  chilled  and  exhausted,  half  strangled  by  the  water  she  had 
swallowed,  and  wild  with  terror.  Her  arms  having  once  been 
loosened,  she  clasped  them  again  around  the  board  in  a  last 
convulsive  effort  of  strength.  Woodbury  let  go  the  frail  raft, 
which,  impelled  by  the  dragging  weight  of  the  shawls,  darted 
at  once  half-way  across  the  stream.  Then  it  began  to  move 
more  slowly,  and  the  force  of  the  current  seemed  to  ingulf  it. 
For  a  moment  the  water  rushed  over  the  child's  head,  but  her 
dress  was  already  within  reach  of  Mrs.  Waldo's  hand,  and  she 
was  drawn  upon  the  bank,  gasping  and  nearly  insensible.  Mrs. 
Merryfield  picked  her  up  and  carried  her  to  the  mother,  who 
still  lay  upon  the  ground,  with  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Woodbury,  relieved  of  his  burden,  now  held  his  position 
with  less  difficulty.  The  coldness  of  the  water,  not  yet  tem- 
pered by  the  few  days  of  summer,  nevertheless,  began  to  be- 
numb him,  and  he  was  obliged  to  struggle  against  a  growing 
exhaustion.  Hannah  Thurston,  as  soon  as  the  child  wa« 
rescued,  drew  in  the  board,  examined  the  knots  of  the  shawls 
and  gathered  them  together  for  another  throw  ;  but  at  the 
same  instant  Mr.  Merryfield,  out  of  breath  and  unable  to  speal^ 
appeared  with  a  plank  on  his  shoulder.  With  the  aid  of  tnt 
others,  the  end  was  secured  between  two  trees,  and  it  waft 
then  run  out  above  the  water,  a  little  below  the  rock,  where 
the  stream  was  shallower.     Woodbury  cautiously  sUd  dowu- 


A   STOJBT    OF   AMEEICAU   LIFB.  201 

gtuned  a  firm  foothold,  and  slowly  crossed,  walking  sidewise, 
supported  by  the  plank.  As  he  neared  the  baok,  he  stretched 
out  his  left  hand,  which  was  grasped  by  Merry  field,  who  drew 
80  tremendously  that  he  almost  lost  his  footing  at  the  last 
moment.  As  he  felt  the  dry  earth  under  him,  a  singulai 
numbness  fell  upon  him.  He  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  Mrs.  Waldo 
tnd  Hannah  Thurston ;  the  former  streaming  with  grateful 
ears,  the  latter  pale  and  glad,  with  a  moist  light  in  her  eyes. 
He  sat  down  upon  the  nearest  rock,  chilled  to  the  bone  ;  bis 
lips  were  blue  and  his  teeth  chattered. 

"It  is  cold  bathing,"  said  he:  "have  you  any  wine?" 

"We  do  not  use  intoxicating  beverages,"  said  Mr.  Whitlowr, 
who  could  not  forget,  even  in  his  gratitude  for  his  daughter's 
rescue,  the  necessity  of  bearing  testimony  against  popular  vices, 

Mrs.  Waldo,  however,  hastily  left  the  company.  Mr. 
Merryfield  took  off  his  coat,  and  having  removed  Woodbury's 
with  some  little  trouble,  substituted  it.  The  dry  warmth  be- 
gan to  revive  him.    "  Where  is  my  new  acquaintance  ?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Whitlow,  after  an  hysterical  outburst  of  alternate 
laughter  and  tears,  had  wrapped  Phillis  Wheatley  in  the 
only  remaining  dry  shawl  and  given  her  a  saucer  of  mar- 
malade ;  but  the  child  was  still  too  much  frightened  to  eat. 
Her  father  bi'ought  her  in  his  arms  and  set  her  down  before 
Woodbury.  "  There,  Phillis,"  said  he,  and  his  voice  trembled 
a  little,  "  you  must  thank  the  gentleman  for  saving  your  life." 

"  Thank  you  for  saving  my  life  ^"  said  Phillis,  in  a  rueful 
voice. 

"  Not  me,"  said  Woodbury,  rising  slowly  and  wearily,  and 
turning  towards  Hannah,  "  but  Miss  Thurston.  Your  cool 
aess  and  presence  of  mind  saved  both  of  us." 

He  took  her  hand.  His  fingers  were  as  cold  as  ice,  yet  a 
warmth  she  never  before  felt  streamed  from  them  through  her 
whole  frame. 

Mrs.  Waldo  suddenly  made  her  appearance,  as  breathless  a« 
before  Mr.  Merryfield  had  been,  with  the  plank  on  his  should  e' 
She  carried  in  her  hand  a  tumbler  full  of  a  yellowish  liquid. 
9* 


202  HANNAH  thueston: 

"  There,"  she  panted,  "  drink  it.  Thankfol  am  I  that  thew 
are  still  sinners  in  the  world.  The  sawyer  had  a  lalack  jug. 
It'«  poisonous  stuff,  I  know — leads  to  the  gates  of  death,  and 
all  that — but  T  thanked  God  when  I  saw  it." 

"  Good  Samaritan  !"  exclaimed  Woodbury  fervently,  as  he 
drank.  It  was,  in  truth,  the  vilest  form  of  whiskey,  but  H 
steadied  his  teeth  and  thawed  his  frozen  blood. 

"  Now  for  my  horse  and  a  gallop  home !"  he  said. 

"  Where  is  the  horse  ?"  they  asked. 

"  I'll  get  him,"  exclaimed  Seth,  with  alacrity. 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  up  to  Jones's,  as  it  were,"  sud 
Merryfield  "  He's  stopped  the  saw-mill,  and  run  to  the  hous-j 
to  get  a  fii-e  kindled.  You  can  dry  yourself  first,  and  SaraL 
can  make  you  some  tea  or  coffee." 

Jones  made  his  appearance  at  almost  the  same  instant, 
"  I  ketched  y'r  horse,  Mr.  Maxwood,"  said  he,  running  tht 
names  together  in  his  excitement.  "  He's  all  right.  Come  up 
t'  th'  house:  Mary  Jane's  made  a  rousia'  fire,  and  you  kin 
dry  y'rself." 

"  Thank  you,  my  friends,"  Woodbury  answered.  "  Your 
whiskey  has  done  me  great  service,  Mr.  Jones,  and  what  I  now 
want  more  than  any  thing  else  is  a  little. lively  motion.  Will 
you  please  lend  Mr.  Merr^^eld  one  of  your  coats,  since  he  has 
kindly  given  me  his?  I  shall  ride  over  and  see  you  to- 
morrow ;  but  now  let  me  get  to  my  horse  as  soon  as  possible." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  sawyer's  shoulder,  to  steady  him- 
self, for  his  steps  were  still  tottering,  and  was  turning  away, 
when  he  perceived  his  wet  coat,  spread  out  on  a  rock.  Pick, 
ing  ii  up,  ho  took  a  note-book  and  some  pulpy  letters  from  the 
breast-pocket.  After  examining  the  latter,  he  crushed  then 
in  his  hand,  and  tossed  them  into  the  stream.  He  then  fei* 
the  deep  side-pockets :  in  one  there  was  a  wet  handkerchief, 
but  on  reaching  the  other  he  dropped  the  coat. 

"Tliere,  Mr.  Dycc,"  said  he,  "you  will  find  your  pamphlet 
I  had  it  in  my  pocket,  intending  to  leave  it  with  Mr.  Merry, 
field  this  afteruooo.     It  is  pretty  thoroughly  soaked  by  this 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN    LIFE.  20S 

tnne^  but  all  tbe  waters  of  Roaring  Brook  could  not  wash  it 
dean." 

Nodding  a  cheerful  good-by  to  Mrs.  Waldo,  a  respectftil 
one  to  Hannah  Thurston,  and  giving  Phillis  a  kiss  which  left 
Lex  staring  at  him  in  open-mouthed  astonishment,  he  left  the 
company.  The  sawyer,  with  a  rough  tenderness,  insisted  on 
keeping  his  arm  around  Woodbury's  waist,  and  on  reaching 
the  mill  produced  the  black  jug,  from  which  it  was  impossible 
to  escape  without  a  mild  libation.  Woodbury  repaid  it  the 
next  day  with  a  bottle  of  smoky  "  Islay,"  the  remembrance  of 
which  made  Jones's  mouth  water  for  years  afterwards. 

The  pic-nic,  of  course,  was  at  an  end.  Without  unpacking 
the  refreshments,  the  party  made  immediate  preparations  to 
return.  The  fire  Mrs.  Jones  had  kindled  was  employed  to  dry 
Phillis  and  the  shawls,  while  the  gentlemen  harnessed  the 
horses.  Mr.  Merryfield  went  about  in  the  sawyer's  Sunday 
coat,  which  had  been  first  made  for  his  wedding,  sixteen  years 
before.  It  was  blue,  with  brass  buttons,  a  high  rolling  collar, 
very  short  waist,  and  tails  of  extraordinary  length.  No  one 
laughed,  however,  except  Mary  Wollstonecraft. 

In  spite  of  the  accident,  which  left  an  awed  and  subdued 
impression  upon  all  minds,  the  ride  home  was  very  animated. 
Each  was  anxious  to  describe  his  or  her  feelings,  but  Mrs. 
Whitlow  was  tacitly  allowed  to  play  the  chief  part. 

"  You  were  all  running  here  and  there,"  said  she,  "  and  the 
movement  was  some  relief  What  jTsufiered,  no  tongue  can 
describe.  But  I  am  reconciled  to  it  now.  I  see  in  it  a 
mysterious  sign  that  Phillis  Wheatley  is  to  have  an  im- 
portant mission  in  the  world,  and  my  duty  is  to  prepare  her 
for  it." 

Fortunately,  no  injury  resulted  to  the  girl  thus  mysteriously 
commissioned,  from  tbe  manner  in  which  it  was  done.  She 
was  obliged,  very  much  against  her  Avill,  to  lie  down  for  the 
rest  of  the  day ;  but  the  next  morning  she  was  discovered  in 
the  stable,  pulling  the  tail-feathers  out  of  an  old  cock  she  had 
caught. 


2d4  HA]!mAH  thurstok: 

On  Monday,  the  Wintlows  took  their  departure  for  Niagartj 
greatly  to  the  rehef  of  their  hosts.  As  they  do  not  appear 
again  in  the  course  of  this  history,  we  may  hope  that  the  re- 
mainder of  their  journey  was  agreeable. 


4  81»!tY   OF  AAIEKICAN   LIFK.  90t 


CHAPTER    XVL 

(WirCBBNING   AN   UNEXPECTKD  JOUBNBT  TO  TIBBBnjS. 

Two  days  after  the  departure  of  the  Whitlows,  Mr.  Dyce, 
during  breakfast,  announced  his  intention  of  leaving  Ptolemy. 
"  I  have  promised  to  visit  the  Community,"  said  he,  "  and  it  la 
now  a  pleasant  time  to  be  there.  Could  you  lend  me  your 
horse  and  carriage  as  far  as  Tiberius,  Merryfield?" 

"  Not  to-day,  I  guess,"  said  the  farmer ;  "  I  must  go  to 
Mulligan sville  this  afternoon,  to  see  about  buying  another  cow, 
and  Henry  has  the  hill-field  to  hoe.  You  could  take  Jinny  and 
the  carriage,  but  how  would  I  get  them  back  again  ?" 

"  I  will  go,"  said  his  wife,  with  an  unusual  eagerness.  "  I 
must  go  there  soon,  any  way.  I've  things  to  buy,  you  know, 
James,  and  there's  Mrs.  Nevins  that  I've  been  owing  a  visit 
to,  this  ever  so  long." 

"  Well,  if  you  want  to,  Sarah,"  he  answered,  "  Pve  nothing 
against  it.  Are  you  sure  it  won't  be  too  much  for  you  ?  Yon 
know  you've  been  having  extra  work,  and  you're  not  strong." 

Mrs.  Merryfield  drew  up  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  and  gave 
a  spasmodic  sob.  "  les,  I  know  I  am  the  weaker  vessel,"  she 
wailed,  "  and  my  own  judgment  don't  pass  for  any  thing." 

"Sarah,  Sarah,  don't  be  foolish!"  said  her  husband;  "you 
Snow  I  never  interfere  unreasonably  with  your  ways.  You 
can  do  as  you  please.  I  spoke  for  your  own  good,  and  you 
needn't  cry  about  it." 

He  rose  with  an  impatient  air,  and  left  the  table.  He  could 
not  but  admit  to  himself,  sometimes,  that  the  happiness  of  his 
married  life  had  not  increased  iu  j^roportion  to  his  progress  in 


206  HANNAH   THUKSTOS": 

the  knowledge  of  Reform.  When  he  looked  back  and  recallei* 
the  lively,  rosy  young  woman,  with  her  first  nuptial  bashful- 
ness  and  air  of  dependence  on  her  husband  fresh  about  her, 
whom  be  had  brought  to  the  farm-house  twenty-five  years 
before,  when  they  lived  in  utter  ignorance  of  dietetic  laws  and 
Jiolemn  duties  towards  the  Human  Race,  he  could  not  repress 
a  feeling  of  pain.  The  sallow,  fretful  woman,  who  now  con- 
sidered her  years  of  confiding  love  as  a  period  of  servitude, 
which  she  strove  to  balance  by  claiming  more  than  an  equal 
ihare  in  the  direction  of  the  household,  was  another  (and  less 
agreeable)  creature,  in  comparison  with  her  former  self.  Of 
late,  she  had  grown  more  than  usually  irritable  and  unsatisfied, 
and,  although  he  had  kindly  ascribed  the  fact  to  housekeeping 
perplexities,  his  patience  Avas  sorely  tried.  There  was  no 
remedy  but  endurance,  so  far  as  he  could  see.  It  was  impos- 
sible, now,  to  change  his  convictions  in  regard  to  woman's 
rights,  and  he  was  too  sincere  to  allow  the  practice  of  his  life 
to  be  inconsistent  with  them. 

When  he  returned  at  noon  from  a  distant  field,  where  he  had 
been  engaged  all  the  morning,  he  was  surprised  to  find  the 
carriage  still  at  home,  although  his  man  Henry  was  engaged 
in  greasing  the  hubs  of  the  wheels.  "  Why,  Sarah,"  said  he, 
as  he  sat  down  to  dinner,  "  I  thought  you  would  have  been 
off." 

"  I  couldn't  get  ready,"  she  answered,  rather  sullenly.  "  But 
I  need  not  come  back  to-night.  It  will  be  better  for  Jinny, 
anyhow." 

JVIr.  Dyce  was  unusually  talkative  on  the  subject  of  the  Com- 
rauuity,  the  charms  of  which  he  painted  in  the  liveliest  colors. 
His  host  was  tired  of  the  subject,  but  listened  with  an  air  of 
tolerance,  as  he  was  so  soon  to  get  rid  of  the  speaker. 

Bidding  the  latter  good-by,  immediately  after  dinner,  he 
saddled  his  horse  and  rode  to  Mulligansville.  The  new  cow 
met  his  requirements,  and  a  bargain  was  soon  concluded.  She 
was  to  bo  brought  to  the  farm  next  day,  when  thje  price  agreed 
upon  would  be  paid.     Mr.  MerryfieKl  had  adopted  the  sensibl* 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFB.  20? 

role  of  defraying  all  such  expenses  as  they  arose.  Hence  his 
crops  were  never  mortgaged  in  advance,  and  fey  waiting  uatil 
tliey  could  be  sold  to  the  best  advantage,  he  prospered  from 
year  to  year. 

When  he  reached  home  again,  it  was  nearly  four  o'clock 
Putting  up  his  horse,  he  entered  the  house  and  went  directly 
U»  the  old-fashioned  mixture  of  hook-case,  writing-desk,  and 
cht'st  of  drawers,  which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  sitting-room. 
He  must  make  a  note  of  the  purchase,  and,  since  he  was  alone, 
might  as  well  spend  an  hour,  he  thought,  in  looking  over  his 
papers  and  making  his  calculations  for  the  summer. 

He  was  very  methodical  in  his  business  arrangements,  and 
the  desk  was  in  such  perfect  order  that  he  always  knew  the 
exact  place  of  each  particular  paper.  This  was  one  of  the 
points  of  controversy  with  his  wife,  which  he  never  yielded : 
he  insisted  that  she  should  not  open  the  desk  in  his  absence.  . 
This  time,  however,  as  he  seated  himself,  drew  out  the  sap 
ports  for  the  lid,  and  let  it  down  upon  them,  his  exact  eye 
showed  him  that  something  had  been  disturbed.  The  papers 
in  one  of  the  pigeon-holes  projected  a  little  further  than  usual, 
and  the  corners  were  not  square  as  they  should  be.  Besides, 
the  pile  appeared  to  be  diminished  in  height.  He  knew  evei'y 
paper  the  pigeon-hole  contained,  took  them  out  and  ran  rapid- 
ly through  them.  One  was  missing  ! — an  envelope,  containmg 
bonds  of  the  New  York  Central  Railroad,  to  the  amount  of 
three  thousand  dollars,  the  private  property  of  his  wife.  It 
was  the  investment  of  a  sum  which  she  had  inherited  at  hei 
father's  death,  made  in  her  own  name,  and  the  interest  of 
which  she  had  always  received  for  her  separate  use. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  thunderstruck  at  the  discovery 
Could  one  of  the  servants  have  taken  the  envelope  ?  Impossi 
ble.  Dyce  ? — how  should  he  know  where  to  find  it  ?  Evi- 
dently, nothing  else  had  been  touched.  Had  his  wife,  perhaps, 
taken  it  with  her,  to  draw  the  semi-annual  interest  at  Tiberius? 
It  was  not  yet  due.  Mechanically,  hardly  conscious  of  what  he 
suspected  or  feared,  he  arose  and  went  up-stairs.     In  the  bed- 


^08  HANNAH   THUBSTON  . 

room  whioh  Dyce  had  last  occupied,  every  thing  was  in  order 
He  passed  into  his  own,  opening  closets  and  wardrobes,  ex- 
pecting either  to  find  or  miss  something  which  might  enlight- 
en hira.  In  his  wife's  wardrobe  three  pegs,  upon  which  dresses 
had  hung,  were  empty.  He  jerked  open,  in  haste,  the  draw^ 
Brs  of  her  bureau :  many  things  had  apparently  been  i-emovfcd. 
Closing  them  again,  he  raised  his  head,  and  a  little  note,  stick- 
ing among  the  bristles  of  the  hair-brush,  which  lay  on  its  back 
in  front  of  the  lookmg-glass,  caught  his  eye.  He  seized  it,  un- 
folded it  with  shaking  hands,  put  on  his  spectacles  and  road. 
There  were  but  two  lines  : 

"  Send  to  Tiberius  for  the  carriage.    I  am  going  to  the 
Community." 

It  was  a  hard  blow  for  the  poor  man.  The  idea  of  conjugal 
infidelity  on  the  part  of  his  wife  was  simply  incredible,  and  no 
svxspicion  of  that  nature  entered  his  mind.  It  was  a  deliberate 
case  of  desertion,  and  the  abstraction  of  the  bonds  indicated 
that  it  was  meant  to  be  final.  What  her  motives  were,  he 
could  only  guess  at  in  a  confused  way ;  but  he  knew  that  she 
would  never,  of  her  own  accord,  have  determined  upon  a  course 
so  mad  and  ruinous.  Many  things  were  suddenly  clear  to  him. 
The  evil  influence  of  Dyce,  strengthened  by  his  assumed  pow- 
er, as  a  medium,  of  bringing  her  children  near  to  her ;  the  mag- 
netic strength,  morbid  though  it  was,  of  the  man's  words  and 
presence ;  the  daily  opportunities  of  establishing  some  intan- 
gible authority  over  the  wife,  during  her  husband's  absence, 
until  she  became,  finally,  the  ignorant  slave  of  his  will — all  this, 
or  the  possibility  of  it,  presented  itself  to  Merryfield's  mind  in 
a  rush  of  dim  and  tangled  impressions.  He  had  neither  the 
time  nor  the  power  to  unravel  them,  but  he  felt  that  there  was 
truth  at  the  core.  Following  this  conviction  came  the  deter 
mmatioc  lo  save  her — yes !  save  her  at  once.  There  was  no 
time  to  be  lost.  Tiberius  was  eighteen  miles  distant,  and  they 
could  not  yet  have  arrived  there.  He  must  follow  instantly, 
and  overtake  them,  if  possible,  before  the  departure  of  the  train 
from  the  west. 


A    STO&Y   OF   AMEEICAN  LIFE.  200 

Why  was  lie  delaying  there  ?  The  ten  minutes  that  he  had 
been  standing,  motionless,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with  the 
note  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  mechanically  reading  the  two  lines 
over  and  over,  until  the  first  terrible  chaos  of  his  feelings  sub- 
sided, had  lengthened  themselves  into  hours.  Breaking  the 
ipell  at  last,  he  drew  a  long  breath,  which  resolved  itself  into 
1  groan,  and  lifted  his  head.  The  little  looking-glass  on  the 
bureau  was  before  him:  moving  a  step  nearer,  he  examined  his 
own  face  with  a  pitiful  curiosity.  It  looked  old  and  haggard ; 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  were  rigidly  drawn  and  tightened,  and 
the  pinched  nostrils  twitched  in  spite  of  himself,  but  his  eyes 
were  hard  and  dry. 

"  It  don't  make  much  difierence  in  ray  looks,  after  all,"  he 
said  to  himself,  with  a  melancholy  laugh ;  and  the  next  instant 
the  eyes  overflowed. 

After  this  brief  outbreak,  he  recovered  some  strength  and 
steadiness,  and  rapidly  arranged  in  his  mind  what  was  first  to 
be  done.  Taking  off  his  work-day  clothes,  he  put  on  a  better 
suit,  and  descended  the  stairs.  Calling  to  the  servant-girl  in 
the  kitchen,  he  informed  her,  in  a  voice  which  he  strove  to 
make  natural  and  unconcerned,  that  he  was  suddenly  obliged 
to  visit  Tiberius  on  business,  but  would  return  the  next  day, 
with  his  wife.  He  left  directions  with  her  for  Henry,  the 
field-hand,  regarding  the  morrow's  work,  then  resaddled  his 
horse  and  rode  rapidly  to  Ptolemy. 

On  the  way,  his  thoughts  involuntarily  went  in  advance,  and 
he  endeavored  to  prefigure  the  meeting  with  his  wife.  It  was 
impossible  for  him,  however,  to  decide  what  course  he  should 
pursue  in  case  she  should  persist  in  her  determination.  It  was 
not  enough  to  overtake  her  ;  he  must  be  armed  at  all  points 
to  subdue  and  reclaim  her.  She  had  a  stubborn  power  of  re- 
sistance with  which  he  was  well  acquainted ;  and,  moreover, 
Dyce  would  be  ready  enough  to  assist  her.  He  foreboded  his 
own  helplessness  in  such  a  case,  though  the  right  was  on  his 
side  and  the  flagrant  wrong  on  hers. 

"It's   my  own  fault,"  lie   groaned,  bitterly j  "Tve   ^ven 


210  HANNAH    TllUIiSI'OJr! 

way  to  her  so  long  that  I've  lost  my  rightful  influenoe  OTei 
her." 

One  means  of  help  suggested  itself  to  his  mind,  and  was 
immediately  accepted.  Leaving  his  horse  at  the  livery  stable, 
and  ordering  a  fast,  fresh  animal  and  a  light  buggy  to  be  sent 
to  the  Cimmerian  Parsonage,  he  proceeded  thither  on  foot. 

Mr:  Waldo  was  in  his  "  study,"  which  was  one  comer  oi 
his  wife's  sitting-room.  He  was  engaged  in  an  epistolary  con 
trove fsy  with  a  clergyman  of  the  Free-will  Baptists,  occasioui 
ally  reading  aloud  a  paragraph  as  he  wrote.  His  wife,  busily 
at  work  in  remaking  an  old  dress,  listened  and  commended. 
They  were  both  startled  by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Merryfield, 
whose  agitation  was  apparent  in  his  face,  and  still  more  so  in 
his  voice,  as  he  greeted  them. 

"  Whai  has  happened  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo. 

"  I  don't  hardly  know,  as  yet,"  he  stammered.  "  I  want 
your  help,  Mr.  Waldo.    Come  with  me — I'm  going  to  Tiberius. 

My  wife" Here  he  paused,  blushing  with  utter  shame 

for  her. 

"  Would  you  rather  speak  to  my  husband  alone  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Waldo,  rising  from  her  seat. 

"  No,  you  must  hear  the  rest,  now,"  he  answered.  "  You're 
a  good  woman,  Mrs.  Waldo — good  and  true,  and  perhaps  you, 
too,  can  help.  Sarah  wants  to  leave  me,  and  I  must  bring  her 
back — I  must^  this  night." 

He  then  told  them,  briefly  and  brokenly,  his  painful  story. 
Amazement  and  pity  filled  the  hearts  of  the  two  good  people, 
who  felt  his  misfortune  almost  as  keenly  as  if  it  wei'e  their 
own.  Mrs.  Waldo  commenced  making  the  few  preparations 
necessary  for  her  husband's  departure,  even  before  his  consent 
was  uttered.  When  the  team  was  announced  as  ready,  sb« 
took  Ml.  Merryfield's  hand  and  bade  him  God-speed,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes.  The  poor  man  was  too  much  moved  to  reply, 
Then,  catching  her  husband's  arm,  as  he  was  issuing  from  the 
room,  she  whispered  earnestly,  "No  harshness — I  know  her: 
she  must  be  coaxed  and  persuaded." 


A   STORY    OF   AMEKICAN   LIFE.  211 

"  I  wish  it  were  you  who  were  going,  my  good  wife,"  said 
Mr.  Waldo,  kissing  her  ;  "yow  would  make  no  mistake.  Bui 
be  sure  that  I  will  act  tenderly  and  carefully." 

They  drove  away.  She  watched  them  turn  the  next  comer, 
and  went  into  the  house  powerfully  excited  by  such  a  suddep 
and  singular  catastrophe.  Her  quick,  intuitive  mind,  and  her 
knowledge  of  Mrs.  Merryfield's  weak  points,  enabled  her  to 
comprehend  the  action  more  correctly  than  the  husband  him 
self  This  very  knowledge  was  the  source  of  her  gieatest 
anxiety ;  for  she  saw  that  the  success  of  the  journey  hung  by 
a  hair.  Having  already  committed  herself,  Mrs.  Merryfield, 
she  foresaw,  would  not  give  up  her  plan  from  the  discovery 
of  it,  merely.  She  was  not  the  woman  to  fall  at  her  husband's 
feet,  repentant,  at  the  first  sight  of  him,  and  meekly  return  to 
her  forsaken  home.  The  utmost  tact  would  be  required — tact 
of  a  kind,  of  which,  with  all  her  respect  for  the  sex,  she  felt 
that  a  man  was  not  capable. 

The  more  she  pondered  on  the  matter,  the  more  restless 
and  anxious  she  grew.  Her  husband's  last  words  remained 
in  lier  ears :  "  You  would  make  no  mistake."  That  was  not 
certain,  but  she  would  make  none,  she  knew,  which  could  not 
at  once  be  rectified.  An  inner  voice  continually  said  to  her, 
"  Go  !"  Her  unrest  became  at  last  insupportable ;  she  went 
to  the  stable,  and  harnessed  their  horse  to  the  old  gig  with  her 
own  hands.  Then  taking  her  shawl,  and  thrusting  some  re- 
freshments into  a  basket — for  she  would  not  delay  even  long 
enough  to  make  a  cup  of  tea — she  clambered  into  the  creaking 
vehicle,  and  drove  oiF. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  however,  like  many  good  women  whose  moral 
courage  is  equal  to  any  emergency,  Avas  in  some  respects  a 
ridicnlons  coward.  Even  in  company  with  her  husband,  she 
never  passed  along  the  country  roads,  at  night,  without  an  in- 
cessant sensation  of  fear,  which  had  no  positive  shape,  and 
therefore  could  not  be  battled  against.  It  was  now  six  o'clock, 
and  the  darkness  Avould  be  upon  her  long  before  she  could 
reach  Tiberius.     The  tliought  of  making  the  journey  alone, 


212  HANNAu  tiiukston: 

was  (lieadful ;  if  the  suspended  fate  of  the  Merryt  /.ds  was  to 
be  decided  by  her  alone,  she  would  have  been  aluost  readj 
to  hesitate.  There  was  but  one  person  in  Ptolemy  to  whom 
she  dared  tell  the  story,  and  who  was  equally  authorized  with 
herself,  to  go — that  person  was  Hannah  Thurston. 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind,  and  her  reso- 
lution was  taken,  while  she  was  harnessing  the  horse.  She 
irove  at  once  to  the  Widow  Thurston's  cottage,  and  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  find  her  and  her  daughter  at  their  early  tea 
Summoning  them  into  the  next  room,  out  of  ear-shot  of  the 
little  servant,  she  communicated  the  story  and  her  request  iii 
the  fewest  possible  words.  She  left  them  no  time  to  recover 
from  the  news.  "  Don't  stop  to  consider,  Hannah,"  she  said, 
"  we  can  talk  on  the  way.     There  is  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

Miss  Thurston  hesitated,  overcome  by  a  painful  perplexity. 
The  matter  had  been  confided  to  her,  without  the  knowledge 
of  the  principal  actors,  and  she  was  not  sure  that  her  unex- 
pected appearance  before  them  would  lead  to  good.  Besides, 
Mrs.  Merryfield's  act  was  utterly  abhorrent  to  all  her  womanly 
instincts,  and  her  virgin  nature  shrank  from  an  approach  to  it, 
even  in  the  way  of  help.     She  stood  irresolute. 

The  widow  saw  what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  "  I  know 
how  thee  feels,  Hannah,"  said  she,  "  and  I  would  not  advise 
thee,  if  thy  way  were  not  cleai  to  my  mind.  I  feel  that  it  is 
right  for  thee  to  go.  The  Saviour  took  the  hand  of  the  fallen 
woman,  and  thee  may  surely  take  Sarah's  hand  to  save  her, 
maybe,  from  falling.  Now,  when  thy  gift  may  be  of  service 
— now  is  the  time  to  use  it  freely.  Something  tells  me  that 
thy  help  will  not  be  altogether  in  vain." 

"  I  will  go,  mother,"  the  daughter  replied.  "  Thy  judg- 
ment  is  safer  than  mine." 

In  five  minutes  more  the  two  women  were  on  their  way. 
The  loveliest  evening  sunshine  streamed  across  the  valley, 
brightening  the  meadows  and  meadow-trees,  and  the  long, 
curving  sweep  of  the  eastern  hill.  The  vernal  grass,  which,  in 
its  flowering  season,  has  a  sweeter  breath  than  the  ro«es  of  Gu* 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  8)S 

lifitan,  was  cut  in  many  places,  and  lay  in  balmy  windrows.  The 
air  was  still  and  warm,  and  dragon-flies,  emitting  blue  and 
emerald  gleams  from  their  long  wings,  bovered  in  zigzag  lines 
along  the  brooksides.  Now  and  then  a  thrush  fluted  from 
the  alder-thickets,  or  an  oriole  flashed  like  a  lighted  brand 
through  the  shadows  of  the  elms.  The  broad  valley  basked 
.hi  the  lazy  enjoyment  of  its  opulent  summer  hues ;  and  what 
eyer  sounds  arose  from  its  bosom,  they  all  possessed  a  tone  of 
passive  content  or  active  joy.  But  the  travellers  felt  nothing 
of  all  this  beauty  :  that  repose  of  the  spiritual  natm-e,  in  which 
the  features  of  the  external  world  are  truly  recognized,  had 
been  rudely  disturbed. 

They  passed  the  Merryfield  farm-house.  How  sadly  at  vari- 
ance with  its  sunny  air  of  peace  was  the  tragic  secret  of  its 
owners,  which  the  two  women  carried  with  them !  The  huge 
weeping  willow  trailed  its  hanging  masses  of  twigs  against  the 
gable,  and  here  and  there  a  rose-tree  thrust  its  arm  through 
the  white  garden  paling  and  waved  a  bunch  of  crimson,  as  if 
tiO  say  :  "  Come  in  and  see  how  we  are  blooming !"  Towards 
the  barn,  the  field-hand  was  letting  down  bars  for  the  waiting 
cows,  and  the  servant-girl  issued  from  the  kitchen-door  with 
her  tin  milk-kettle,  as  they  gazed.  What  a  mockery  it  all 
seemed! 

A  little  further,  and  the  cataract  thundered  on  their  right. 
All  below  the  rocky  wall  lay  in  shadow,  but  the  trees  on  its 
crest  were  still  touched  by  the  sun,  and  thin  wreaths  of  spray, 
whirling  upward,  were  suddenly  converted  into  dust  of  gold. 
Hannah  Thurston  looked  up  at  the  silent  grove,  and  shuddered 
as  she  recalled  the  picture  she  had  last  seen  there.  The  brook 
could  never  again  wear  to  her  its  former  aspect  of  wayward, 
inipetuous  jubilation.  Under  its  green  crystal  and  glassy 
•lides  lurked  an  element  of  terror,  of  pitiless  cruelty.  Yet 
even  the  minutes  of  agonizing  suspense  she  had  there  endured 
were  already  softened  in  her  memory,  and  seemed  less  terrible 
than  the  similar  trial  which  awaited  her. 

Near  the  entrance  to  Lakeside  they  met  B  tc^  Wilson,  witb 


914  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

a  yoke  of  oxen.    He  recognized  the  old  gig,  and  with  a  lou4 
'•  llaw,  Buck, — come  hither !"  drew  his  team  off  the  road." 

"  Takin'  a  drive,  are  ye  ?  How  d'you  do,  Mrs.  Waldo- 
Miss  Hannah  ?" 

"  Good -evening,  Bute  !"  said  Mrs.  Waldo.  "  How  is  Mr 
Woodbury?  1  hope  he  has  not  suffered  from  being  so  long 
in  the  water." 

"  Bless  you,  no  !  Mr.  Max.  is  as  sound  as  a  roach.  He  rid 
over  to  Tiberius  this  afternoon.  I  say,  wasn't  it  lucky  that 
jist  he  should  ha'  come  along  at  the  right  time  ?"  Bute's  face 
glowed  with  pride  and  delight. 

"  It  was  Providential :  good-by !" 

Slowly  climbing  the  long  ravine,  through  dark  woods,  it 
was  after  sunset  when  they  reached  the  level  of  the  upland. 
The  village  of  Anacreon  soon  came  in  sight,  and  they  drove 
rapidly  through,  not  wishing  to  be  recognized.  Beyond  this 
point  the  road  was  broad,  straight,  and  firm,  and  they  could 
make  better  progress.  A  low  arch  of  orange  Ught  lingered 
in  the  west,  but  overhead  the  larger  stars  came  out,  one  after 
another.  Belts  of  warm  air  enveloped  them  on  the  heights, 
but  the  dusky  hollows  were  steeped  in  grateful  coolness,  and 
every  tree  by  the  roadside  gave  out  its  own  peculiar  odor. 
The  ripe,  antique  breath  of  the  oak,  the  honeyed  bitter  of  the 
tulip-tree,  and  the  perfect  balsam  of  the  hickory,  were  breathed 
upon  them  in  turn.  A  few  insects  still  chirped  among  the 
clover,  and  the  unmated  frogs  serenaded,  by  fits,  their  reluctant 
sweethearts.  At  one  of  the  farm-houses  they  passed,  a  girl, 
■eated  in  the  porch,  was  singing : 

"We  have  lived  and  loved  together, 
Through  many  changing  years." 

Every  circiimstance  seemed  to  conspire,  by  involuntary  con- 
trast, to  force  the  difficult  and  pahiful  task  they  had  under- 
taken more  distinctly  upon  their  minds.  After  Mrs.  Waldo 
bad  imparted  all  she  knew,  with  her  own  conjectures  of  the 


A    STOUI'    OF    AMERICAN'   LTFB.  ^Ift 

eauses  of  the  desertion,  both  women  were  silent  for  a  long 
time,  feeling,  perhaps,  that  it  was  impossible  to  arrange,  in 
advance,  any  plan  of  action.  They  must  trust  to  the  siLgges- 
tions  which  the  coming  interview  would  supply. 

"I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  at  last. 
•*  After  80  many  years  of  married  life — after  having  children 
born  to  them,  and  lost,  uniting  them  by  the  more  sacred  bond 
>f  sorrow — how  is  it  possible?  They  certainly  loved  each 
other :  what  has  become  of  her  love  ?" 

*'  She  has  it  somewhere,  yet,  you  may  be  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Waldo.  "  She  is  weak  and  fooUsh,  but  she  does  not  mean  to 
be  criminal.  Dyce  is  a  dangerous  man,  and  he  has  led  her  to 
the  step.     No  other  man  she  knows  could  have  done  it." 

"  Can  she  love  him  ?" 

"Probably  not.  But  a  strong,  unscrupulous  man  who 
knows  our  sex,  Hannah,  has  a  vast  power  which  most  women 
do  not  understand.  He  picks  up  a  hundred  little  threads  of 
weakness,  each  of  which  is  apparently  insignificant,  and 
twists  them  into  a  chain.  He  surprises  us  at  times  when  our 
judgment  is  clouded,  his  superior  reason  runs  in  advance  of 
our  thoughts — and  we  don't  think  very  hard,  you  know — and 
wiU  surely  bind  us  hand  and  foot,  unless  some  new  personality 
comes  in  to  interrupt  him.  We  women  are  governed  by  per- 
sonal influences — there  is  no  use  in  denying  the  fact.  And 
men,  of  course,  have  the  strongest." 

"  I  have  sometimes  feared  as  much,"  said  Hannah  Thurston, 
sadly,  "but  is  it  not  owing  to  a  false  education?  Are  not 
women  trained  to  consider  themselves  inferior,  and  thus  de- 
pendent? Do  not  the  daughters  learn  the  lesson  of  their 
mothers,  and  the  fathers  impress  the  opposite  lesson  on  theif 
sons  ?" 

"  1  know  what  you  mean,  and  you  are  partly  right.     But 

that  is  not  ail.     There  are  superior  women  whom  we  lo»)k  np 

o — .    look  up  to  you,  Hannah,  who  are,  intellectually,  i.o  far 

a  bore  me — but  they  never  impress  us  with  the  same  sense  of 

J    wer,  oi  protecting  cajjacity,  that  we  feel  in  the  presence  of 


ili  HATTMAH   THTJBOTON: 

almost  any  man.  It  is  soraethmg  I  cannot  explain — a  sort  of 
physical  magnetism,  I  suppose.  I  respect  men :  I  like  them 
because  they  are  men,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess :  and  I  am 
not  humiliated  as  a  woman,  by  acknowledging  the  diflference  " 

"  Habit  and  tradition !"  Hannah  Thurston  exclaimed. 

"  I  know  you  will  think  so,  Hannah,  and  I  am  not  able  to  an* 
•wer  you.  When  I  hear  you  speak,  sometimes,  every  word  yea 
gay  seems  just  and  true,  but  my  instincts,  as  a  woman,  remain 
the  same.  Your  life  has  been  very  different  from  mine,  and 
perhaps  you  have  taken,  without  knowing  it,  a  sort  of  warUke 
position  towards  men,  and  have  wilfully  resisted  their  natural 
influence  over  you.  For  your  sake,  I  have  often  longed — and 
you  must  pardon  me,  if  I  ought  not  to  say  such  a  thing — that 
some  man,  in  every  respect  worthy  of  yon,  should  come  to 
know  you  as  you  are,  and  love  you,  and  make  you  his  wife." 

"  Don't — don't  speak  of  that,"  she  whispered. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  to-night,  dear,"  Mrs.  Waldo  soothingly 
replied.  "  I  have  been  thinking  as  I  came  along,  what  cause 
I  have  to  thank  God  for  having  given  me  a  good  and  faithful 
husband.  /  should  never  have  been  happy  as  a  single  womaii, 
and  for  that  reason,  no  doubt,  your  life  seems  imperfect  to 
me.  But  we  cannot  always  judge  the  hearts  of  others  by  our 
own." 

By  this  time  the  glimmering  arch  of  summer  twilight  had 
settled  behind  the  hills,  and  only  the  stars  lighted  them  on 
their  way.  The  road  stretched  before  them  like  a  dusky 
band,  between  the  shapeless  darkness  of  woods  and  fields,  on 
either  side.  Indistinct  murmurs  of  leaves  and  rustlings  among 
the  grass  began  to  be  heard,  and  at  every  sound  Mrs.  Waldo 
Btaited  nervously. 

"  Was  there  ever  such  a  coward  as  I  am ! "  she  exclaimed, 
in  a  low  voice.  "  If  you  were  not  with  me,  I  should  go  wDd 
with  fear.  Do  you  suppose  any  man  in  the  world  is  so 
timid  ?" 

"  There,  again,  I  cannot  judge,"  Miss  Thurston  answered. 
"I  only  know  that  I  am  nevei-  alarmed  at  night,  and  that  thii 


A   STORY   OV    AMERICAN   LrFB.  9H 

journey  would  be  a  perfect  enjoyment,  if  we  were  uot  going 
on  such  an  unfortunate  errand." 

"I  always  knew  you  were  an  exception  among  women. 
Your  nerves  are  like  a  man's,  but  mine  are  altogether  feminine, 
»nd  I  can't  help  myself." 

The  horse  stopped  at  a  toll-gate.  They  were  only  two 
miles  from  Tiberius,  and  the  road  descended  the  greater  part 
of  the  way.  Mrs.  Waldo  recovered  her  courage,  for  the 
houses  were  now  more  thickly  scattered,  and  the  drive  would 
soon  be  at  an  end.  The  old  horse,  too,  had  by  this  time  recog- 
nized the  extent  of  his  task,  and  determined  to  get  through 
wii-n  it.  They  rattled  rapidly  onwards,  and  from  the  next  rise 
saw  the  lights  of  the  town,  twinkling  around  the  foot  of 
Atauga  Lake. 

As  they  reached  the  suburban  belt,  where  every  square, 
flat-roofed,  chocolate-colored  villa  stood  proudly  in  the  centre 
of  its  own  square  plot  of  ground,  Hannah  Thurston  asked: 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?" 

"  Bless  me,  I  never  thought  of  that.  But  I  think  my  hus- 
band generally  stops  at '  The  Eagle,'  and  we  can  at  least  leave 
the  horse  there.  Then  we  must  try  to  find  him  and — the 
others.  I  think  our  best  plan  would  be  to  go  to  the  railroad 
station." 

The  gardens  and  villas  gradually  merged  into  the  irregular, 
crowded  buildings  which  lined  the  principal  street.  Many 
stores  were  open,  the  side-walks  were  lively  with  people^ 
transparencies  gleamed  before  ice-cream  saloons,  and  gas- 
lamps  burned  brilliantly  at  the  corners. 

"  What  time  is  it  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Waldo. 

Hannah  Thurston  looked  at  her  watch.     "  A  quarter  pas} 
•ine." 

"We  have  made  good  time,"  said  her  companion;  "Heaviw 
grant  that  we  are  not  too  late !" 
10 


UAJSrSAU  THUB8TOV: 


CHAPTER   XVn. 

WHICH    SOLVES  THB  PEECBDINQ   ONI. 

M.'^.  Merkyfield,  on  forsaking  her  home,  had  not  anticipated 
the  possibility  of  an  immediate  pursuit.  She  supposed,  of 
course,  that  her  husband  would  first  discover  her  intention  the 
next  morning,  when  he  would  have  occasion  to  use  the  hair- 
brush. He  would  then,  sooner  or  later,  she  believed,  follow 
b'sr  to  the  Community,  where  the  sight  of  a  Perfect  Society, 
of  an  Eden  replanted  on  the  Earth,  would  not  only  convincii 
him  of  the  wisdom  of  her  act,  but  compel  him  to  imitate  it. 
If  their  convictions  had  been  reversed,  and  he  had  desired  to 
try  the  new  social  arrangement,  could  he  not  have  done  so 
with  impunity,  regardless  of  her  opposition?  Then,  their 
rights  being  equal,  why  should  she  consult  his  pleasure  ? 

Thus  she  reasoned,  or,  rather,  Dyce  reasoned  for  her.  She 
was  a  very  weak  and  foolish  woman,  afflicted  with  that  worst 
of  temperaments  which  is  at  the  same  time  peevish  and  stub- 
bo. n,  and  did  not  at  all  appreciate  the  gravity  of  the  step  she 
had  taken.  An  inner  voice,  indeed,  told  her  that  its  secrecy 
was  unjustifiable — that  she  should  openly  and  boldly  declare 
her  intention  to  her  husband ;  but  her  base  friend  easily  per- 
suaded her  that  it  vas  better  to  draw  him  after  her  wlen  she 
had  reached  the  Community,  and  settle  the  difiereuce  there. 
His  own  eyes  would  then  convince  him  of  her  wisdom :  oppj> 
sition  would  be  impossible,  with  the  evidence  before  him.  She 
would  thus  spare  herself  a  long  and  perhaps  fruitless  encounter 
of  opinions,  which,  owing  to  the  finer  organization  of  her 
spiritual  nature,  she  ought  to  a\oid.  Such  difieronces,  he 
said,  disturbed  the  atmosphere  in  which  spirits  most  readily 


A   STORY    OF    AMKKICAN   LUTB.  819 

approacned  ard  communicated  with  her.  In  the  pure  ano 
harmonious  life  of  the  Community,  she  might  perhaps  attain  tc 
the  condition  of  a  medium,  and  be  always  surrounded  by  au 
gelic  company. 

The  afternoon  was  hot  and  they  drove  slowly,  so  that  even 
before  they  reached  Tiberius,  the  two  parties  of  pursuers  were 
on  the  way.  Just  as  they  entered  the  town,  Mr.  Woodbury 
passed  the  carriage  on  horseback.  Glancing  at  its  occupants, 
he  recognized  Mrs.  Merryfield,  bowed,  and  reined  in  his  horse 
as  if  to  speak,  but  seeing  Dyce,  his  cordial  expression  became 
suddenly  grave,  and  he  rode  on.  This  encounter  troubled 
Mrs.  Merryfield.  A  secret  uneasiness  had  been  growing  upon 
her  during  the  latter  part  of  the  way,  and  Woodbury's  look 
inspired  her  with  a  vague  fear.  She  involuntarily  hoped  that 
she  might  not  meet  him  again,  or  any  one  she  knew,  before 
leaving  Tiberius.  She  would  not  even  visit  Mrs.  Nevins,  as 
she  had  proposed.  Moreover,  Woodbury  would  probably  put 
up  at  the  hotel  which  she  and  her  husband  usually  visited. 
Another  must  be  selected,  and  she  accordingly  directed  Dyce 
to  drive  through  the  town  to  a  tavern  on  its  northern  side,  not 
far  from  the  railroad  station. 

At  half-past  eight  in  the  evening  her  husband  and  Mr. 
Waldo  alighted  in  front  of  "  The  Eagle."  As  the  former  was 
giving  orders  about  the  horse  to  the  attendant  ostler,  Wood- 
bury came  down  the  steps  and  immediately  recognized  the 
new  arrivals. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed,  "  is  all  Ptolemy  coming  to  Tiberius 
to-day?  Yom-  wife  has  the  start  of  you,  Mr.  Merryfield:  I 
passed  her  this-^vening" 

x\.  violent  grasp  on  his  arm  interrupted  him.     "  Where  ii 
he  ?     Have  they  left  ?"  the  husband  hoarsely  asked. 

The  light  from  the  corner-lamp  fell  full  upon  his  face.  Its 
expression  of  pain  and  anxiety  was  unmistakable,  and  a  pre 
sentiment  of  the  incredible  truth  shot  through  Woodbury's 
mind. 

"Hush,  my  friend!"  said  Mr.  Waldo.     "Control  yourself 


220  ilAJSNAU   TUUKSTOK  *. 

while  we  register  our  names,  and  then  we  will  go  to  work 
It  is  fortunate  that  you  have  betrayed  yourself  to  Mr.  Wood- 
bury instead  of  some  one  else.  Come  with  us  1"  he  added, 
turning  to  the  latter ;  "  you  must  now  know  the  rest.  We 
can  trust  every  thing  to  your  honor." 

They  entered  the  office  of  the  hotel.  Merryfield,  after 
.Irinking  a  large  tumbler  of  ice- water,  recovered  some  degree 
of  composure.  Mr.  Waldo  ascertained  from  the  landlord  that 
the  next  train  for  the  east  would  leave  at  midnight,  the  pre- 
vious train  having  left  at  five  o'clock.  Woodbury,  seeing  the 
necessity  of  a  private  understanding,  invited  them  both  to  his 
room,  where  the  whole  affair  was  explained  to  him,  and  he 
was  able  to  assure  them,  by  recalling  the  hour  of  his  own  ar- 
rival, that  Dyce  and  Mrs.  Merryfield  must  be  still  in  the  town. 

"  We  have  three  hours,"  said  he,  "and  they  must  be  found 
in  half  the  time.  There  must  not  be  a  meeting  at  the  station. 
Have  you  no  idea,  Mr.  Merryfield,  where  your  wife  would  go  ?" 

"  She  spoke  of  visiting  Mrs.  Nevins,  as  it  were,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  it  is  quite  unlikely  that  she  is  there,"  said  Woodbury. 
"  But  we  must  first  settle  the  point.  Let  us  go  at  once :  where 
is  the  house  ?" 

Merryfield  led  the  way,  much  supported  and  encouraged  by 
Woodbury's  prompt,  energetic  manner.  He  had  now  less 
dread  of  the  inevitable  encounter  with  Dyce. 

A  walk  of  ten  minutes  brought  them  to  the  Nevins  mansion. 
It  was  a  small  villa,  with  a  Grecian  portico,  seated  in  a  diminu 
tive  garden.  There  was  a  fight  in  the  front  room.  Mr. 
Will  do  was  unacquainted  with  the  inmates,  and  afraid  to 
allow  Merryfield  to  entei  the  house  alone.  There  was  a 
moment  of  perplexity. 

"  I  have  it,"  said  Woodbury,  suddenly.  "  Move  on  a  littje, 
and  wait  for  me."  He  boldly  entered  the  garden  and  stepped 
upon  the  Grecian  portico.  The  windows  had  musfin  curtains 
across  their  lower  half,  but  he  easily  looked  over  them  into 
i,  'e  room.  A  middle-aged  woman,  in  a  rocking-chair,  was 
tnitting  some  worsted  stuff  with  a  pair  of  wooden  needles, 


▲  STOKr    OF   AilKKlCAN  LIPK.  3S1 

On  the  other  side  of  the  lamp,  with  his  back  to  her,  eat  a  axsai^ 
absorbed  in  a  newspaper.  A  boy  of  ten  years  old  lay  asleep 
on  the  carpet.  Noting  all  this  at  a  glance,  Woodbury  knocked 
at  the  door.  A  rusthng  of  the  newspaper  followed,  footsteps 
entered  the  hall,  and  the  outer  door  was  opened. 

Woodbury  assumed  a  natural  air  of  embarrassed  disappoint 
ment.  "  I  am  afraid,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  made  a  mistaka 
Does  Mr.  Israel  Thompson  live  here?" 

"  Israel  Thompson  ?  I  don't  know  any  such  person.  There's 
James  Thompson,  lives  further  down  the  street,  on  the  other 
Bide." 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  inquire  of  him.  I  am  a  stranger  here," 
and  he  rejoined  his  friends.  "  Now,"  said  he,  "  to  save  time, 
Mr.  Waldo,  you  and  I  must  visit  the  other  hotels,  dividing 
them  between  us.  Mr.  Merryfield  had  better  not  take  any  part 
in  the  search.  Let  him  wait  for  us  on  the  corner  opposite 
'  The  Eagle.'  We  can  make  our  separate  rounds  in  twenty 
minutes,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  have  discovered  them  by  that 
time." 

An  enumeration  of  the  hotels  was  made,  and  the  two  gen- 
tlemen divided  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  economize  time 
in  making  their  roimds.  They  then  set  out  in  different  direc- 
tions, leaving  Merryfield  to  walk  back  alone  to  the  rendezvous. 
Hitherto,  the  motion  and  excitement  of  the  pursuit  had  kept 
him  up,  but  now  he  began  to  feel  exhausted  and  desponding. 
He  had  not  eaten  since  noon,  and  experienced  aU  the  weakness 
without  the  sensation  of  hunger.  A  powerful  desire  for  an 
artificial  stimulant  came  over  him,  and,  for  a  moment,  he  halted 
Vefore  the  red  light  of  a  drinking-saloon,  wondering  whether 
there  was  any  one  inside  who  could  recognize  him.  The  dooi 
opened,  and  an  atmosphere  of  rank  smoke,  tobacco-soaked  saw- 
dust, and  pungent  whiskey  gushed  out ;  oaths  and  fragments 
of  obscene  talk  met  his  ears,  and  he  hurried  away  in  disgust. 
At  "The  Eagle"  he  fortified  himself  again  with  ice-watetj 
and  then  took  his  stand  on  the  opposite  corner,  screened  from 
the  lamp-light  by  an  awning-post. 


S22  HANNAH  xhukston: 

The  late  storekeepers  up  and  down  the  street  were  puttiug 
ay  their  shutters,  but  the  ice-cream  transparencies  still  shone 
briglitly,  and  the  number  of  visitors  rather  increased  than  di 
minished.  From  a  neighboring  house  came  the  sound  of  a 
piano,  and  presently  a  loud,  girlish  voice  which  sang :  "  I  dreamt 
that  I  dwe-helt  in  ma-harble  lialls."  What  business,  he 
thought,  had  people  to  be  eating  ice-cream  and  singing  songs  ? 
It  was  an  insulting  levity.  How  long  a  time  his  friends  had 
been  absent !  A  terrible  fear  came  over  him — what  if  he 
should  not  find  his  wife  ?  At  night — no,  he  dared  not  think 
of  i'  He  looked  down  the  crossing  streets,  in  all  four  direc- 
tions, as  far  as  his  eye  could  pierce,  and  inspected  the  approach- 
ing figures.  Now  he  was  sure  he  recognized  Woodbury's 
commanding  form ;  now  the  brisk  gait  of  the  short  clergy- 
man. But  they  came  nearer  and  resolved  themselves  into 
strangers.  Then  he  commenced  again,  striving  to  keep  an 
equal  watch  on  all  the  streets.  The  appointed  time  was  past, 
and  they  did  not  come !  A  cold  sweat  began  to  gather  on 
his  forehead,  and  he  was  ready  to  despair.  All  at  once,  Mr 
Waldo  appeared,  close  at  hand,  and  hurried  up  to  him,  breath* 
less. 

"  I  have  finished  my  list,"  said  he. 

"Have  you  found  them?" 

"  No,  but what  does  this  mean !"  cried  the  clergyman, 

•itarting.      "  That  is  my  horse,  certainly — and  the  old  gig  I 
Can  my  wife" 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  sprang  into  the  streel 
and  called.  The  horse  turned  his  head  from  a  sudden  jerk  of 
the  liner,  and  in  a  moment  was  di'awn  up  beside  the  pave- 
ment. 

"  H  j-fr  glad  I  am  we  have  met  you !  I  cot4d  not  stay  at 
home,  indeed.  You  will  let  us  help,  will  you  not?  Are  we 
in  time  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  apology,  entreaty,  and  anxiety 
all  mingling  in  her  voice. 

"  With  God's  favor,  we  are  still  in  time,"  her  husband  au' 
swured. 


A   STOEY    OF   AMEEICAN  LIFE.  223 

"  1 1  hank  you  for  coming — you  and  Hannah,  both,"  Merry- 
field  sadly  added,  "  but  I'm  afraid  it's  no  use." 

*'  Cheer  up,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  Mr.  Woodbury  will  b« 
here  in  a  moment." 

"  He  is  here  already,"  said  Woodbury,  joining  them  at  the 

instant.     "  I  have  " He  paused,  recognizing  the  gig  and 

its  occupants,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  Mr.  Waldo. 

••  They  know  it,"  answered  the  latter,  "  and  for  that  reason 
they  have  come." 

"  Brave  women !  We  may  need  their  help.  I  have  found 
the  persons  we  are  looking  for — at  the  Beaver  House,  in  the 
second-story  parlor,  waiting  for  the  midnight  train." 

"  Then  drive  on,  wife,"  said  Mr,  Waldo ;  "  you  can  put  up  the 
horse  there.  You  are  known  at  the  Eagle,  and  we  had  better 
avoid  curiosity.    Follow  us :  Mr.  Woodbury  will  lead  the  way." 

They  passed  up  the  street,  attracting  no  notice,  as  the  con- 
nection between  the  movements  of  the  women  in  the  gig,  and 
the  three  men  on  the  sidewalk,  was  not  apparent.  In  a  short 
time  they  reached  the  Beaver  House,  a  second-rate  hotel,  with 
a  deserted  air,  ou  a  quiet  street,  and  near  the  middle  of  the 
block.  Two  or  three  loafers  were  in  the  office,  half  sliding 
out  of  the  short  arm-chairs  as  they  lounged,  and  lazily  talk- 
ing. Woodbury  called  the  landlord  to  the  door,  gave  the 
horse  into  his  charge,  and  engaged  a  private  room  until  mid- 
night. There  was  one,  he  had  already  ascertained,  adjoining 
the  parlor  on  the  second  story.  He  offered  liberal  pay,  pro- 
vided uo  later  visitors  were  thrust  upon  them,  and  the  landlord 
was  very  willing  to  make  the  arrangement.  It  was  not  often 
that  he  received  so  much  patronage  in  one  evening. 

After  a  hurried  consultation,  in  whispers,  they  entered  the 
house.  The  landlord  preceded  them  up-stairs  with  a  lamp, 
and  ushered  them  into  the  appointed  room.  It  was  a  small 
oblung  chamber,  the  floor  decorated  with  a  coarse  but  very 
gaudy  carpet,  and  the  furniture  covered  with  shiny  hair-cloth, 
very  cold,  and  stitf,  and  slippery.  Tliere  was  a  circular  table 
of  mahogany,  upon  which  lay  a  Bible,  and  the  Odd-Fellow'l 


S34  HAifNAn  tsueston: 

Annual,  bound  in  red.  Beside  it  wa8  a  huge  spittoon  of  broW« 
stone-ware.  Folding-doors  connected  with  the  adjoining  par- 
lor, and  the  wood-work,  originally  of  unseasoned  pine,  gotten 
up  without  expense  but  regardless  of  durability,  was  sc 
warped  and  sprung  that  these  doors  would  not  properly  close. 
Privacy,  so  far  as  conversation  was  concerned,  was  impossibla 
In  fact,  no  sooner  had  the  landlord  departed,  and  the  noise  ol 
entrance  subsided  a  little,  than  Dyce's  voice  was  distinctly- 
heard : 

"  You  should  overcome  your  restlessness.  All  pioneers  in 
great  works  have  their  moments  of  doubt,  but  they  are  caused 
by  the  attacks  of  evil  spirits." 

Merryfield  arose  in  great  agitation.  Perhaps  he  would  have 
spoken,  but  Mr.  Waldo  lifted  his  hand  to  command  silence, 
beckoned  to  his  wife,  and  the  three  left  the  room.  At  the 
door  the  clergyman  turned  and  whispered  to  Woodbury  and 
Hannah  Thurston :  "  You  may  not  be  needed :  wait  until  I 
summon  you." 

The  next  instant  he  knocked  on  the  door  of  the  parlor. 
Dyce's  voice  replied :  "  Come  in."  He  entered  first,  followed 
by  his  wife,  and,  last  of  all,  the  injured  husband.  Dyce  and 
Mrs.  Merryfield  were  seated  side  by  side,  on  a  sofa.  Both,  as 
by  an  involuntary  impulse,  rose  to  their  feet.  The  latter 
turned  very  pale  ;  her  knees  trembled  under  her,  and  she  sank 
down  again  upon  her  seat.  Dyce,  however,  remained  stand- 
ing, and,  after  the  first  surprise  was  over,  regained  his  brazen 
effrontery. 

Merryfield  was  the  first  to  speak.  "Sarah,"  he  cried, 
•*  What  does  this  mean  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  towards  the  window,  and  made  no 
Wiswer. 

"  Mrs.  Merryfield,"  said  Mr.  Waldo,  gravely,  yet  with  no 
harshness  in  his  tone,  "  we  have  come,  as  your  friends,  be- 
lieving that  you  have  taken  this  step  hastily,  and  without  con- 
sidering what  its  consequences  would  be.  We  do  not  think 
you  appreciate  its  solemn  importance,  both  for  time  and  for 


A   STOBT    OF    AMEBICAN    LIFE.  226 

eternity.  It  is  not  yet  too  late  to  undo  what  you  have  doncj 
ftnd  we  are  ready  to  help  you,  in  all  kindness  and  tenderness." 

"I  want  nothing  more  than  my  rights,"  said  Mrs.  Merry* 
field,  in  a  hard,  stubborn  voice,  without  turning  ner  head. 

"  I  will  never  interfere  with  your  just  rights,  as  a  woman,  a 
wife,  and  an  immortal  soul,"  the  clergyman  replied.  "  But 
you  have  not  alone  rights  to  receive  :  you  have  duties  to  per- 
form. You  have  bound  yourself  to  your  husband  in  holy 
marriage  ;  you  cannot  desert  him,  whose  faith  to  you  has  never 
been  broken,  who  now  stands  ready  to  pardon  your  present 
&ult,  as  he  has  pardoned  all  your  past  ones,  without  incurring 
a  greater  sin  than  infidelity  to  him.  Your  married  relation 
includes  both  the  moral  laws  by  which  society  is  bound,  and 
the  Diviue  laws  by  which  we  are  saved." 

"  The  usual  cant  of  theologians !"  interrupted  Dyce,  with  a 
sneer.  "  Mrs.  Merryfield  owes  nothing  to  the  selfish  and  arti- 
ficial machinery  which  is  called  Society.  Marriage  is  a  part 
of  the  machinery,  and  just  as  selfish  as  the  rest.  She  claims 
equal  rights  with  her  husband,  and  is  doing  no  more  than  he 
would  do,  if  he  possessed  all  of  her  convictions." 

"  I  would  never  do  it !"  cried  Merryfield, — "  not  for  all  the 
Communities  in  the  world !  Sarah,  I've  been  faithful  to  you, 
in  every  thought,  since  you  first  agreed  to  be  my  wife.  If  Fve 
done  you  wrong  iu  any  way,  tell  me!" 

"  I  only  want  ray  rights,"  she  repeated,  still  looking  away. 

"  If  you  really  think  you  are  deprived  of  them,"  said  Mr. 
Waldo,  "  come  home  with  us,  and  you  shall  be  fairly  heard 
and  fairly  judged.  I  promise  you,  as  an  impartial  friend,  that 
DO  advantage  shall  be  taken  of  your  mistake :  you  shall  be 
treated  as  if  it  had  not  occurred.  Have  you  reflected  how 
this  act  will  be  interpreted,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  ?  Can 
you  bear,  no  matter  how  innocent  you  may  be,  to  be  ibllowed, 
through  all  the  rest  of  your  life,  by  the  silent  suspicion,  if  not 
the  open  reproach,  of  the  worst  shame  that  can  happen  to 
woman?  Suppose  you  reach  yom-  Community.  These  ct- 
periments  have  often  been  tri-^d.  and  they  have  always  failed. 
10*  


B36  HAirsTAH  thueston: 

Yon  might  hide  yourself  for  a  while  from  the  judgment  of  tilt 
world,  but  if  the  association  should  break  to  pieces — what 
then  ?  Does  the  possession  of  some  right  which  you  fancy  is 
withheld,  compensate  you  for  incurring  this  fearful  risk — nay, 
for  euauring  this  fearful  certainty  ?" 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"Dyce  roughly  exclaimed. 
"  You,  a  petrified  fossil  of  the  false  Society !  "What  right  have 
you  to  judge  for  her?  She  acts  from  motives  which  your 
narrow  mind  cannot  comprehend.  She  is  a  disciple  of  the 
Truth,  and  is  not  afraid  to  show  it  in  her  life.  If  she  lived 
only  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  like  the  rest  of  you,  she 
might  still  be  a  Vegetable !" 

Mrs.  Merryfield,  who  had  colored  suddenly  and  violently,  as 
the  clergyman  spoke,  and  had  turned  her  face  towards  him,  for 
a  moment,  with  an  agitation  which  she  could  not  conceal,  now 
lifted  her  head  a  little,  and  mechanically  rocked  on  her  lap  a 
travelling-satchel,  which  she  had  grasped  with  both  hands. 
She  felt  her  own  inability  to  defend  herself,  and  recovered  a 
little  courage  at  hearing  it  done  so  fiercely  by  her  com- 
panion. 

Mr.  Waldo,  without  noticing  the  latter,  turned  to  her  again. 
"  I  will  not  even  condemn  the  motives  which  lead  you  to  this 
step,"  said  he,  "  but  I  must  show  you  its  inevitable  conse- 
quences. Only  the  rarest  natures,  the  most  gifted  intellects, 
may  seem  to  disregard  the  ruling  habits  and  ideas  of  man- 
kind, because  God  has  specially  appointed  them  to  some  great 
work.  You  know,  Mrs.  Merryfield,  as  well  as  I  do,  that  you 
are  not  one  of  such.  The  world  will  make  no  exception  in 
your  favor.  It  cannot  put  our  kindly  and  tolerant  construe 
tion  upon  your  motives :  it  will  be  pitiless  and  inflexible,  and 
its  verdict  will  crush  you  to  the  dust." 

"Sarah,"  said  her  husband,  more  in  pity  than  in  reproach, 
*  do  stop  and  think  vvh;it  you  are  doing !  What  Mr.  Waldo 
says  is  true :  you  will  bring  upon  yourself  more  than  you  can 
bear,  or  I  can  bear  for  you.  T  don't  charge  you  with  any 
thiiig  wrong;  i" don't  believe  you  would  be  guilty  of — of — I 


A   STORY    OP    AMERICAN   OFIZ.  JjS* 

ean't  say  it — but  I  couldn't  hold  up  my  head,  as — as  it  were, 
and  defend  you  by  a  single  word.'* 

"  Oh,  no !  of  course  you  couldn't !"  Dyce  broke  in  again, 
with  an  insufferable  impudence.  "  You  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
— or  Mr.  Waldo,  for  that  matter, — what  men  are.  Don't  brag 
to  me  about  your  morality,  and  purity,  and  all  that  sort  of 
humbug:  what's  fit  for  one  sex  is  fit  for  the  other.  Men,  yofii 
know,  have  a  natural  monopoly  in  the  indulgence  of  passion  : 
it's  allowed  to  them,  but  woman  is  damned  by  the  very  sus- 
picion. You  know,  both  of  you,  that  any  man  would  as  lief 
be  thought  wicked  as  chaste — that  women  are  poor,  ignorant 

fools" 

One  of  the  folding-doors  which  communicated  with  the  ad- 
joining room  was  suddenly  torn  open,  and  Woodbury  ap- 
peared. His  brown  eyes,  flashing  indignant  fire,  were  fixed 
upon  Dyce.  The  sallow  face  of  the  latter  grew  livid  with 
mingled  emotions  of  rage  and  fear.  With  three  strides, 
Woodbury  was  before  him. 

"  Stop !"  he  cried,  "  you  have  been  allowed  to  say  too  much 
already.  If  you^''  he  added,  turning  to  the  others,  "  have 
patience  with  this  beast,  I  have  not." 

"  Ah  !  he  thinks  he's  among  his  Sepoys,"  Dyce  began,  but 
was  arrested  by  a  strong  hand  upon  his  collar.  Woodbury's 
face  was  pale,  but  calm,  and  his  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  the 
expression  of  which  struck  terror  to  the  heart  of  the  medium. 
"Now,  leave  !"  said  he,  in  a  low,  stern  voice,  "leave,  or  I 
hurl  you  through  that  window  !"  Relinquishing  his  grasp  on 
the  collar,  he  opened  the  door  leading  to  the  staircase,  and 
waited.  For  a  moment,  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  met,  and  in 
that  moment  each  took  the  measure  of  the  other.  Dyce's 
figure  seemed  to  contract ;  his  breast  narrowed,  his  shoulders 
fell,  and  his  knees  approached  each  other.  He  walked  slowly 
Bnd  aAvkwardly  to  tlie  end  of  the  sofa,  picked  up  his  valise, 
and  shuffled  out  of  the  room  without  saying  a  word.  Wood- 
bury followed  him  to  the  door,  and  said,  before  he  closed  it. 
"  Recollect,  you  leave  here  by  the  midnight  train."     Non« 


128  IIANN^AII  thukston: 

of  those  who  heard  it  had  any  doubt  that  the  command  would 
be  obeyed. 

Mr.  Merryfield  experienced  an  unbounded  sensation  of  reliel 
on  Dyce's  departure ;  but  his  wife  was  only  frightened,  not 
conquered.  Although  pale  and  trembling,  she  stubbornly  held 
out,  her  attitude  expressing  her  collective  defiance  of  the  com- 
pany. She  avoided  directly  addressing  or  meeting  the  eyes 
of  any  one  in  particular.  For  a  few  moments  there  was  silence 
in  the  room,  and  she  took  advantage  of  it  to  forestall  the 
appeals  which  she  knew  would  be  made,  by  saying : 

"  Well,  now  you've  got  me  all  to  yourselves,  I  suppose  youHl 
try  to  bully  me  out  of  my  rights." 

"  "We  have  no  intention  to  meddle  with  any  of  your  rights, 
as  a  wife,"  Mr.  Waldo  answered.  "You  must  settle  that 
question  with  your  husband.  But  does  not  your  heart  tell 
you  that  he  has  rights,  as  well  ?  And  what  has  he  done  to 
justify  you  in  deserting  him  ?" 

"  He  needn't  be  deserted,"  she  said  ;  "  he  can  come  after  me." 
"  Never  1"  exclaimed  her  husband,  "  If  you  leave  me  now, 
and  in  this  way,  Sarah,  you  will  not  see  me  again  until  you 
voluntarily  come  back  to  me.  And  think,  if  you  go  to  that 
place,  what  you  must  then  seem  to  me !  Fve  defended  you, 
Sarah,  and  will  defend  you  against  all  the  world  ;  but  if  you 
go  on,  you'll  take  the  power  of  doing  it  away  from  me. 
Whether  you  deserve  shame,  or  not,  it'll  come  to  you — and 
it'll  come  to  me,  just  the  same." 

The  deluded  wife  could  make  no  reply.  The  consequencee 
of  her  step,  if  persisted  in,  were  beginning  to  dawn  upon  hci 
mind,  but,  having  defended  it  on  the  ground  of  her  equal 
rights  as  a  woman,  a  pitiful  vanity  prevented  her  from  yield- 
ing. It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  attack  her  from  anothei 
quarter.  Hannah  Thurston  felt  that  the  moment  had  arrived 
when  she  might  venture  to  speak,  and  went  gently  forward  tc 
the  sofa. 

"  Sarah,"  she  said,  "  I  think  you  feel  that  I  am  your  friend; 
Will  you  not  believe  me,  then,  when  I  say  to  you  that  w« 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  229 

have  all  followed  you  prompted  only  by  the  pity  and  distresa 
which  we  feel  for  your  sake  and  ymir  hasband's  ?  We  beg 
you  not  to  leave  us,  your  true  friends,  and  go  among  strangers. 
Listen  to  us  calmly,  and  if  we  convince  you  that  you  are  mis- 
taken, the  admission  should  not  be  diflScult." 

"  You,  too,  Hannah  !"  cried  Mrs.  Merryfield.  "  You,  that 
taught  me  what  my  rights  were !  Will  you  confess,  first,  that 
you  are  mistaken  ?" 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  Hannah  Thurston's  face. 
"  1  never  meant  to  claim  more  than  natural  justice  for  woman," 
said  she,  "  but  I  may  have  been  unhappy  in  my  advocacy  of  it. 
I  may  even,"  turning  towards  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  have  seemed  to 
assume  a  hostile  position  towards  man.  If  so,  it  was  a  mis- 
take. If  what  I  have  said  has  prompted  you  to  this  step,  1 
will  take  my  share  of  humiliation.  But  we  will  not  talk  of 
that  now.  Blame  me,  Sarah,  if  you  like,  so  you  do  not  forgei 
the  tenderness  you  cannot  wholly  have  lost,  for  him  whose  life 
is  a  part  of  yours,  here  and  hereafter.  Think  of  the  children 
who  are  waiting  for  you  in  the  other  life — waiting  for  both 
parents,  Sarah." 

The  stubborn  resistance  of  the  wife  began  to  give  way. 
Tears  came  to  her  eyes,  and  she  shook  as  if  a  mighty  struggle 
had  commenced  in  her  heart.  "  It  was  for  them,"  she  mur- 
mured, in  a  broken  voice,  "  that  I  was  going.  He  said  they 
would  be  nearer  to  me." 

"  Can  they  be  nearer  to  you  when  you  are  parted  from  their 
father?  Was  it  only  your  heart  that  was  wrung  at  their  loss? 
If  all  other  bonds  were  broken  between  you,  the  equal  share 
in  the  beings  of  those  Immortals  should  bind  you  in  life  and 
death !  Pardon  me  for  renewing  your  sorrow,  but  I  mast 
iivoke  the  purer  spirit  that  is  born  of  trial.  If  your  mutual 
watches  over  their  cradles  cannot  bring  back  the  memory  of 
your  married  love,  I  must  ask  you  to  remember  who  held 
your  hand  beside  their  coffins,  whose  arm  supported  you  in< 
the  lonely  nights !" 

The  husband  could  endure  no  more.     Lifting  his  face  from 


wo  HANNAH   THUBSTON: 

ibis  hands,  he  cried :  "  It  was  me,  Sarah.  And  now,  if  yoi 
.eave  me,  there  will  be  no  one  to  talk  with  me  about  Absalom, 
And  Angelina,  and  our  dear  little  Robert.  Don't  you  mind 
6ow  I  used  to  dance  hitn  on  my  knee,  as — as  it  were,  and  tell 
ftim  he  should  have  a  horse  when  he  was  big  ?  He  had  such 
*retty  hair ;  you  always  said  he'd  make  a  handsome  man, 
-iai'ah  :  but  now  they're  all  gone.  There's  only  us  two,  now 
as  it  were,  and  we  can't — no,  we  daren't  part.  We  won't 
part,  will  we  ?" 

IMrs.  Waldo  made  a  quiet  sign,  and  they  stole  gently  from 
the  room.  As  he  closed  the  door,  Woodbury  saw  the  con- 
quered and  penitent  wife  look  up  with  streaming  eyes,  sobbing 
convulsively,  and  stretch  out  her  arms.  The  next  instant,  Mrs. 
Waldo  had  half  embraced  him,  in  the  rush  of  her  pent-up 
gratitude. 

"  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  striving  to  subdue  her  voice,  "  how 
grand  it  was  that  you  put  down  that — that  man.  I  never 
believed  in  non-resistance,  and  now  I  know  that  I  am  right." 

Hannah  Thurston  said  nothing,  but  her  face  was  radiant 
with  a  tranquil  light.  She  could  not  allow  the  doubts  which 
had  arisen  in  her  mind — the  disturbing  influences  which  had,  ol 
late,  beset  her,  to  cloud  the  happy  ending  of  such  a  painful 
day.  A  whispered  conversation  was  carried  on  betwecu 
Woodbury  and  the  Waldos,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  low  voices 
in  the  next  room ;  but  at  the  end  of  ten  minutes  the  dooT 
opened  and  Merryfield  appeared. 

"  We  will  go  home  to-night,  as  it  were,"  said  he.  "  The 
moon  rises  about  this  time,  and  the  night  is  warm." 

*'  Then  we  will  all  go  !"  was  Mrs.  Waldo's  decision.  "  The 
carriages  will  keep  together — husband,  you  must  drive  one  of 
them,  alone — and  I  shall  not  be  so  much  alarmed.  It  is  better 
«o :  curious  folks  will  not  see  that  we  have  been  absent,  and 
Qeed  not  know." 

Woodbury  whispered  to  her :  "  I  shall  wait  until  the  train 
leaves." 

"  Will  you  follow,  afterwards  ?" 


A   STOEY    OP   AMflRICAlf  LIFJffi.  2i^l 

**  Yes — bat  no :  my  intention  to  stay  all  night  is  known,  and 
I  ought  properly  to  remain,  unless  you  need  my  escort." 

"  Stay,"  said  Hannah  Thurston. 

The  vehicles  left  the  two  hotels  with  the  same  persons  whc 
had  arrived  in  them — Dyce  excepted.  Outside  of  Tiberiui 
they  halted,  and  Merryfield  joined  his  wife.  The  two  women 
followed,  and  Mr.  Waldo,  alone,  acted  as  rear-guard.  Thus,  in 
the  silent  night,  over  the  moonlit  hills,  and  through  the  rust- 
ling darkness  of  the  woods,  they  went  homewards. 

Vague  suspicions  of  something  haunted  the  community  of 
Ptolemy  for  a  while,  but  nothing  was  ever  discovered  or  be- 
trayed which  could  give  them  a  definite  form.  And  yet,  of 
the  five  persons  to  whom  the  truth  was  known,  three  were 
iromen. 


m  HA^iKAU   TUUBSTON* 


CHAPTER    XVm. 

ONB   OF  THE   SUMMER   DIVERSIONS    OF   PTOLEMT. 

Tew  days  after  the  journey  to  Tiberius,  the  highways  in 
both  valleys,  and  those  descending  from  the  hills  on  either 
side,  were  unusually  thronged.  Country  carriages,  buggies 
of  all  fashions,  and  light  open  carts,  rapidly  succeeded  each 
other,  all  directing  their  course  towards  the  village.  They 
did  not  halt  there,  however,  but  passed  through,  and,  climbing 
the  gentle  acclivity  of  the  southern  hill,  halted  at  a  grove, 
nearly  a  mile  distant.  Here  the  Annual  Temperance  Conven- 
tion of  Atauga  County  was  to  be  held.  The  cause  had  been 
languishing  for  the  past  year  or  two  ;  many  young  men  had 
become  careless  of  their  pledges,  and  the  local  societies  were 
begmning  to  fall  to  pieces,  because  the  members  had  heard  aD 
that  was  to  be  said  on  the  subject,  and  had  done  all  that  could 
conveniently  be  done.  The  plan  of  procuring  State  legislation 
in  their  favor  rendered  it  necessary  to  rekindle,  in  some  meas- 
ure, the  fires  of  zeal — if  so  warm  an  expression  can  be  applied 
to  so  sober  a  cause — and  one  of  the  most  prominent  speakers 
on  Temperance,  Mr.  Abiram  Stokes,  was  called  upon  to  brush 
up  his  well-used  images  and  illustrations  for  a  new  campaign. 

It  was  announced,  by  meatis  of  large  placards,  posted 
in  all  the  village  stores,  post-offices,  and  blacksmiths'  shops, 
far  and  wide,  that  not  only  he,  but  Mr.  Grindle  and  several 
other  well-known  speakers  were  to  address  the  Convention. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  same  placard  was  conspicuously 
displayed  in  the  bar-room  of  tlie  Ptolemy  House,  the  landlord 
«andidly  declaring  that  he  would  be  glad  if  such  a  convention 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   UFE.  232 

were  held  every  week,  as  it  brought  him  a  great  deal  of  cus- 
tom. The  friends  of  the  cause  were  called  upon  for  a  special 
effort ;  the  day  was  carefully  arranged  to  come  at  the  end  of 
haying,  yet  before  the  wheat-harvest  had  fairly  commence! ; 
moreover,  it  was  Saturday,  and  the  moon  was  nearly  full 
The  weather  favored  the  undertaking,  and  by  noon  the  line  of 
the  roads  could  be  distinguished,  at  some  distance,  by  the 
dust  which  arose  from  the  strings  of  vehicles. 

The  principal  members  of  the  local  societies — especially 
those  of  Atauga  City,  Anacreon,  Nero  Corners,  Mulligansville. 
and  New  Pekin — came  in  heavy  lumber-wagons,  decoratec 
with  boughs  of  spruce  and  cedar,  carrying  with  them  theii 
banners,  whenever  they  had  any.  With  some  diflSculty,  a 
BuflScient  bum  was  raised  to  pay  for  the  services  of  the  Ptolemy 
Cornet  Band,  in  performing,  as  the  placard  stated,  "  melodies 
appropriate  to  the  occasion."  What  those  melodies  were,  it 
was  not  very  easy  to  determine,  and  the  managing  committee  of 
the  Ptolemy  Society  had  a  special  meeting  on  the  subject,  the 
night  before.  A  wag  suggested  "  The  Meeting  of  the  Waters," 
which  was  at  once  accepted  with  delight.  "  Bonny  Doon'' 
found  favor,  as  it  "minded"  the  hearers  of  a  Scottish  brook. 
"  The  Campbells  are  Comin' "  was  also  on  the  list,  until  some 
one  remembered  that  the  landlord  of  the  Ptolemy  House  bore 
the  name  of  that  clan.  '*  A  wet  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea"  hinted 
too  strongly  at  "  half-seas  over,"  and  all  the  familiar  Irish  airs 
were  unfortunately  associated  with  ideas  of  wakes  and  Donny- 
brook  Fairs.  After  much  painful  cogitation,  the  "  Old  Oaken 
Bucket,"  "Allan  Water,"  "Zurich's  Waters,"  and  "The 
Haunted  Spring"  were  discovered ;  but  the  band  was  not  able 
to  play  more  than  half  of  them.  Its  most  successful  perform- 
ance, we  are  bound  to  confess,  was  the  air  of  "  Landlord,  fill 
the  flowing  bowl,"  which  the  leader  could  not  resist  giving 
once  or  twice  daring  the  day,  to  the  great  scandal  of  those 
votaries  of  the  cause  who  had  once  been  accustomed  to  sing  it 
in  character. 

The  grove  was  a  beautiful  piece  of  oak  and  hickory  timber 


284  HANNAU   TUUESTON  : 

Bloping  towards  the  north,  and  entirely  clear  of  underbmsK 
It  covered  about  four  acres  of  ground,  and  was  neither  sc 
dense  nor  fell  so  rapidly  as  to  shut  out  a  lovely  glimpse  of 
the  valley  and  the  distant,  dark-blue  sheet  of  the  lake,  between 
the  boles.  It  was  pervaded  with  a  grateful  smell,  from  the 
trampled  grass  and  breathing  leaves  ;  and  wherever  a  beam  of 
lunshine  pierced  the  boughs,  it  seemed  to  single  out  some  bit 
of  gay  color,  in  shawl,  or  ribbon,  or  parasol,  to  play  upon  and 
utilize  its  brightness.  At  the  bottom  of  the  grove,  against 
two  of  the  largest  trees,  a  rough  platform  was  erected,  in 
front  of  which,  rising  and  radiating  amphitheatrically,  were 
plank  benches,  capable  of  seating  a  thousand  persons.  Those 
who  came  from  a  distance  were  first  on  hand,  and  took  their 
places  long  before  the  proceedings  commenced.  Near  the 
main  entrance,  venders  of  refreshments  had  erected  their 
stands,  and  displayed  to  the  thronging  visitors  a  tempting 
variety  of  indigestible  substances.  There  was  weak  lemonade, 
in  tin  buckets,  with  huge  lumps  of  ice  glittering  defiantly  at 
the  sun ;  scores  of  wired  bottles,  filled  with  a  sarsaparilla  mix- 
ture, which  popped  out  in  a  rush  of  brown  suds  ;  ice-cream, 
the  cream  being  eggs  beaten  up  with  watei,  and  flavored  with- 
lemon  sirup ;  piles  of  dark,  leathery  ginger-cakes,  and  rowg 
of  glass  jars  full  of  candy-sticks  ;  while  the  more  enterprising 
dealers  exhibited  pies  cut  into  squares,  hard-boiled  eggs,  and 
even  what  they  called  coffee. 

Far  down  the  sides  of  the  main  road  to  Ptolemy  the  vehicles 
were  ranged,  and  even  inside  the  adjoining  fields — the  owner 
of  which,  being  a  friend  to  the  cause,  had  opened  his  bars  tc 
the  multitude.  Many  of  the  farmers  from  a  distance  brought 
their  own  oats  with  them,  and  unharnessed  and  fed  their  horses 
in  the  fence-corners,  before  joining  the  crowd  in  the  grove. 
Then,  accompanied  by  their  tidy  wives,  who,  meanwhile,  ex- 
amined the  contents  of  the  dinner-baskets  and  saw  that  every 
thing  was  in  order,  they  approached  the  meeting  with  satisfied 
and  mildly  exhilarated  spirits,  occasionally  stop2-»ing  to  greet 
an  acquaintance  or  a  relative.     The  daughters  had  already  pre- 


A   STOKTf    OF   AMERICAK  LIPB.  28.') 

ceded  them,  with  their  usual  indepeudence,  well  knowing  the 
impatieuce  of  the  young  men,  and  hoping  that  the  raost  agree- 
able of  the  latter  would  discover  them  before  the  meeting  was 
called  to  order.  This  was  the  real  charm  of  the  occasion,  to 
old  ae  well  as  young.  The  American  needs  a  serious  pretext 
for  his  recreation.  He  does  not,  in  fact,  recognize  its  ne- 
cessity, and  would  have  none  at  all,  did  not  Nature,  with 
benevolent  cunning,  occasionally  fiirnish  him  with  diversion 
under  the  disguise  of  duty. 

As  the  banners  of  the  local  societies  arrived,  they  were  set 
up  in  conspicuous  positions,  on  and  around  the  speaker's  plat- 
form. That  of  Tiberius  was  placed  in  the  centre.  It  was  of 
biue  silk,  with  a  gold  fringe,  and  an  immense  geyser-like  foim- 
tain  in  its  field,  under  which  were  the  words :  "  Ho !  every  one 
that  thirsteth  !"  On  the  right  was  the  banner  of  Ptolemy — a 
brilliant  rainbow,  on  a  white  ground,  with  the  warning :  "Look 
not  upon  the  Wine  when  it  is  Red."  What  connection  there 
was  between  this  sentence  and  the  rainbow  was  not  apparent, 
unless  the  latter  was  meant  to  represent  a  watery  deluge.  The 
banner  of  Aiiacreon,  on  the  left,  held  forth  a  dancing  female, 
in  a  crimson  dress.  One  foot  was  thrown  far  out  behind  her, 
and  she  was  violently  pitching  forward;  yet,  in  this  un- 
comfortable position,  she  succeeded  in  pouring  a  thick 
stream  of  water  from  a  ewer  of  blue  china  into  the  open 
mouth  of  a  fat  child,  who  wore  a  very  scanty  dress.  The 
inscription  was:  "The  Fountain  of  Youth."  The  most  inge- 
nious device,  however,  was  that  from  Nero  Corners.  This  lit- 
tle community,  too  poor  or  too  economical  to  own  a  temper- 
ance banner,  took  a  political  one,  which  they  had  used  in  the 
campaign  of  the  previous  year.  Upon  it  were  the  names  of 
the  candidates  for  President  and  Vice-President:  "Pieecb 
and  King."  A  very  little  alteration  turned  the  word  "  Pierce" 
into  "Prince,"  and  the  word  "  Water"  being  prefixed,  the 
inscription  became:  "Water, — Prince  and  King."  Those 
from  other  neighborhoods,  who  Avere  not  in  the  secret,  greatly 
admired  tne  simphcity  and  force  of  tlie  expression. 


236  HANNAH  thueston: 

Woodbury,  who  was  early  upon  the  ground,  was  much  ii* 
tcrested  in  the  scene.  Between  two  and  three  thousand  per^ 
sons  were  present,  but  an  order  and  decorum  prevailed,  which 
would  be  miraculous  *n  lands  where  the  individual  is  not  per« 
mitted  to  grow  up  self-ruled,  or  swayed  only  by  the  exaraplo 
of  his  fellows,  and  self-reliant.  No  servant  of  the  law  was  pres* 
ent  to  guard  against  disorder,  because  each  man  was  his  own 
policeman.  Even  some  tipsy  rowdies,  who  came  out  fi'om 
Ptolemy  towards  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  were  sobered 
by  the  atmosphere  of  the  place,  and  had  no  courage  to  make 
their  intended  interruptions.  The  effect  of  such  meetings, 
Woodbury  confessed  to  himself,  could  not  be  otherwise 
than  good ;  the  reform  was  necessary  among  a  people  whose 
excitable  temperament  naturally  led  them  to  excesses,  and 
perhaps  it  was  only  one  extreme  which  could  counteract 
the  other.  There  was  still  too  little  repose,  too  little  mental 
balance  among  them,  to  halt  upon  the  golden  middle-ground 
of  truth 

The  band  occupied  the  platform  for  some  time  after  he  ar- 
rived, and  its  performances  gave  intense  satisfaction  to  the 
people.  The  clear  tones  of  the  horns  and  clarionets  pealed 
triumphantly  through  the  shade,  and  an  occasional  slip  in  an 
instrument  was  unnoticed  in  the  hum  of  voices.  Gradually, 
the  hearers  were  lifted  a  little  out  of  the  material  sphere  in 
which  they  habitually  moved,  and  were  refreshed  accordingly. 
They  were  made  capable,  at  least,  of  appreciating  some  senti- 
ment and  imagination  in  the  speakers,  and  words  were  now 
heard  with  deUght,  which,  in  their  common  moods,  would  have 
been  vacant  sound.  They  touched,  in  spite  of  themselves,  tha' 
upper  atmosphere  of  poetry  which  hangs  over  all  human  life— 
where  the  cold  marsh-fogs  in  which  we  walk  become  the  rosy 
cloud-islands  of  the  dawn ! 

At  two  o'clock,  the  band  vacated  the  platform,  and  the  Con- 
vention was  called  to  order.  After  an  appropriate  prayer  by 
the  Rev.  Lemuel  Styles,  a  temperance  song  was  sung  by  a  large 
chorus  of  the  younger  members.     It  was  a  parody  on  Hoff- 


A   STORT    OF   AjrEBTCAN   LIFE.  28Y 

man's  charming  anacreontic :  "  Sparkling  and  Bright."  tb4 
words  of  which  were  singularly  transformed.  -  Instead  of; 

"  As  the  bubbles  that  swim  on  the  beaker's  brim, 
And  break  on  the  lips  at  meeting," 

the  refrain  terminated  with : 

"  There's  nothing  so  good  for  the  youthful  blood, 
Or  so  sweet  as  the  sparkling  water  I" 

— in  the  style  of  a  medicinal  prescription.  Poor  Hoffman ! 
Noble  heart  and  fine  mind,  untimely  darkened !  He  was  at 
least  spared  this  desecration  ;  or  perhaps,  with  the  gay  humor 
with  which  even  that  darkness  is  still  cheered,  he  would  have 
parodied  the  parody  to  death. 

The  Annual  Report  was  then  read.  It  was  of  great  length, 
being  mainly  a  furious  appeal  to  voters.  The  trick  of  basing 
a  political  issue  upon  a  personal  habit  was  an  innovation  in  the 
science  of  government,  which  the  natural  instincts  of  the  peo- 
ple were  too  enlightened  to  accept  without  question.  The 
County  Committee,  foreseeing  this  difficulty,  adopted  the  usuaJ 
tactics  of  party,  and  strove  to  create  a  headlong  tide  of  sym- 
pathy which  would  overbear  all  hesitancy  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
the  movement,  or  the  dangerous  precedent  which  it  introduced 
into  popular  legislation.  "Vote  for  the  Temperance  Candi- 
dates," they  cried,  in  the  Report,  "  and  you  vote  for  morality, 
and  virtue,  and  religion  !  Vote  against  them,  and  you  vote  for 
disease,  and  misery,  and  crime  !  Vote  for  them,  and  you  vote 
reason  to  the  frantic  brain,  clearness  to  the  bleared  eye,  steadi- 
ness to  the  trembling  hand,  joy  to  the  heart  of  the  forsaken 
wife,  and  bread  to  the  mouths  of  the  famishing  children  !  Vote 
against  them,  and  you  vote  to  fill  our  poor-houses  and  peniten- 
liaries — to  tighten  the  diabolical  hold  of  the  rumseller  on  hia 
strugglmg  victim — to  lead  our  young  men  into  temptation,  and 
bring  ruin  on  our  beloved  land  !  Yes,  you  would  vote  to  fill 
the  drunkard's  bottle  ;  you  would  vote  oaths  and  obscenity  into 
his  speech  ;  you  would  vote  curses  to  his  wife,  blows  to  his 
children,  the  shoes  off  their  feet,  the  shirts  off  their  backs, 
the  beds  from  under  them,  and  the  roofs  from  over  their  heads.'' 


238  HANNAH   THUi'^STON  : 

The  Report  was  adopted  with  tremendous  unanimity,  and 
the  faces  of  the  members  of  the  Committee  beamed  with  sat- 
isfaction. The  political  movement  might  be  considered  as 
successfully  inaugurated.  This  was  the  main  object  of  the 
Convention,  and  the  waiting  orators  now  saw  that  they  had  a 
clear  and  pleasant  field  before  them.  Woodbury,  who  wai 
leaning  against  a  tree,  near  the  end  of  a  plank  upon  which  hia 
iriends  the  Waldos  were  seated,  listened  with  an  involuntary 
sensation  of  pain  and  regret.  The  very  character  of  the  Report 
strengthened  him  in  the  conviction  that  the  vice  to  be  cured 
had  its  origin  in  a  radical  defect  of  the  national  temperament, 
which  no  legislation  could  reach. 

Mrs.  Waldo  looked  up  at  him,  inquiringly.  He  shook  his 
head.  "  It  is  a  false  movement,"  said  he ;  "  good  works  are 
not  accomplished  by  violence." 

"  But  sometimes  by  threatening  it,"  she  answered,  with  a 
meaning  smile. 

He  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  President  announced  that 
Byron  Baxter,  of  the  Anacreon  Seminary,  would  recite  a  poem, 
after  which  the  meeting  would  be  addressed  by  Mr.  Abiram 
Stokes. 

Byron  Baxter,  who  was  an  overgrown,  knock-kneed  youth 
of  nineteen,  with  long  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  advanced  to 
the  front  of  the  platform,  bowed,  and  then  suddenly  started 
back,  with  both  hands  extended  before  him,  in  an  attitude  of 
horror.     In  a  loud  voice,  he  commenced  to  recite : 

"  Oh,  take  the  maddening  bowl  away  I 
Remove  the  poisonous  cup  1 
My  soul  is  sick ;  its  burning  ray 
Hath  drunk  my  spirit  up. 

''  Take,  take  it  from  my  loathing  lip 
Ere  madness  fires  my  brain : 
Oh,  take  it  hence,  nor  let  me  sip 
Its  liquid  death  again  1" 

As    the    young   man    had   evidently  i.ever  L&ste<f   aii/  thi'lg 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICA!*    LIFS.  280 

•tronger  than  molasses-and-water,  the  expression  of  Lis  abhor- 
rence was  somewhat  artificial.  Nevertheless,  a  shudder  ran 
through  the  audience  at  the  vehemence  of  his  declamation, 
and  he  was  greeted  with  a  round  of  applause,  at  the  clo&e. 

The  orator  of  the  day,  Mr.  Abirara  Stokes,  then  made  hi 
appearance.  He  was  a  man  of  forty-five,  with  a  large,  hand 
Bome  head,  and  an  imposing  presence.  His  hair  and  eyes  were 
dark,  and  his  complexion  slightly  tinted  with  olive.  This  trait, 
with  his  small  hands  and  showy  teeth,  seemed  to  indicate  a 
mixture  of  Spanish,  blood.  He  had  a  way  of  throwing  his 
head  forward,  so  as  to  let  a  large  lock  of  his  hair  fall  over  hit 
forehead  with  a  picturesque  efiect,  and  then  tossing  it  back  to 
its  place  with  a  reverse  motion.  His  voice  was  full  and  sono- 
rous ;  although,  to  a  practised  ear,  its  pathos,  in  passages  in- 
tended for  effect,  was  more  dramatic  than  real.  Few  of  his 
present  auditors,  however,  were  able  to  discriminate  in  this 
respect ;  the  young  ladies,  especially,  were  in  raptures.  It 
was  rumored  that  his  early  life  had  been  very  wild  and  dissi- 
pated, and  he  was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  conspicuous 
brands  which  had  been  snatched  from  the  burning.  This  ru- 
mor preceded  hira  wherever  he  went,  created  a  personal  inte- 
rest for  him,  in  advance,  and  added  to  the  effect  of  his  oratory. 

His  style  of  speaking,  nevertheless,  was  showy  and  specious. 
He  took  no  wide  range,  touched  but  shghtly  on  the  practical 
features  of  tlie  subject,  and  indulged  sparingly  in  anecdotes 
and  illustrations.  None  of  the  latter  professed  to  be  drawn 
from  liis  personal  experience :  his  hearers  might  make  what- 
ever inference  they  pleased,  he  knew  the  value  of  mystery  too 
well,  to  enlighten  them  further.  He  was  greatest  in  apostro- 
phes to  Water,  to  Reform,  to  Woman,  to  any  thing  that  per- 
mitted him,  according  to  his  own  expression,  "to  soar."  This 
feature  of  his  orations  was  usually  very  effective,  the  first  time 
he  was  heard.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  introducing  some  ol 
his  favorite  passages  on  every  occasion.  Woodbury,  who  was 
not  aware  of  this  tiick,  was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  natoral 
warmth  an  1  eloquence  of  the  speaker's  language. 


240  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

His  peroration  rau  something  in  this  wise :  "  This,  the  purest 
and  most  beneficent  of  the  Virtues,  comes  not  to  achieve  her 
victory  in  battles  and  convulsions.  Soft  as  the  dews  of  heaveix 
her  white  feet  are  beautiful  upon  the  mountains,  bringing  glad 
tidings  of  great  joy!  Blessed  are  we  that  she  has  chosen  her 
abode  among  us,  and  that  she  has  selected  us  to  do  her  work  ( 
No  other  part  of  the  world  was  fitted  to  receive  her.  She 
never  could  have  been  produced  by  tlie  mouldering  despotisms 
of  Europe,  where  the  instincts  of  Freedom  are  stifled  by  wine 
and  debauchery ;  the  Old  World  is  too  benighted  to  behold 
her  face.  Here  only — ^here  on  the  virgin  bosom  of  a  new  Con- 
tinent— here,  in  the  glorious  effulgence  of  the  setting  sun — 
here  only  could  she  be  born !  She  is  the  child  of  the  West — 
Temperance — and  before  her  face  the  demon  Alcohol  flees 
to  his  caverns  and  hides  himself  among  the  bones  of  his  vic- 
tims, while  Peace  sits  at  her  right  hand  and  Plenty  at  her  left!" 

"  Beautiful  1"  "  splendid !"  was  whispered  through  the  au- 
dience, as  the  speaker  took  his  seat.  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth 
wiped  her  eyes  with  a  very  small  batiste  handkerchief,  and 
sighed  as  she  reflected  that  this  man,  her  beau-id^al  (which 
she  understood  to  mean  an  ideal  beau),  would  never  know  what 
an  appreciative  helpmeet  she  would  have  made  him. 

"  Oh,  Hannah !"  she  whispered,  leaning  forward,  to  Miss 
Thurston,  who  was  seated  on  the  next  plank,  "did  you  ever 
hear  any  thing  so  beautiful  ?" 

"I  thought  it  fine,  the  first  time  I  heard  it,"  Hannah  re- 
plied, with  a  lack  of  enthusiasm  which  quite  astounded  the 
little  sempstress.  She  began  to  fear  she  had  made  a  mistake, 
when  the  sight  of  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  equally  in  tears, 
(and  no  wonder,  for  her  brother  Elisha  had  been  a  miserable 
Jrunkard),  somewhat  revived  her  confidence.  - 

"  Flashy,  but  not  bad  of  its  kind,"  said  Woodbury,  in  re- 
ply to  Mrs.  Waldo's  question. 

"  Are  you  not  ashamed  ?  It's  magnificent.  And  he's  such 
a  handsome  man  !"  slie  exclaimed.  "  But  I  see,  you  are  de- 
termined not  to  admire  any  of  them  ;  you've  not  forgotten 


A   STORY   OP   AMEBiCAN  L1F«.  i4l 

Grindle's  attack.  Or  else  you're  a  pess —  what's  the  name  oi 
it  ?    Mr.  Waldo  explained  the  word  to  me  yester4ay — pess  " — 

"  Oh,  a  pessimist  ?  Not  at  all,  Mrs.  Waldo.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  am  almost  an  optimist." 

"  Well,  that's  just  as  bad — though  I  am  not  sure  I  know 
ichat  it  ia  Oh,  there's  Grindle  going  to  speak.  Now  you'll 
catch  it !" 

She  shook  her  hand  menacingly,  and  Woodbury,  much 
amused  and  not  a  little  curious  to  hear  the  speaker,  resumed 
ois  position  against  the  tree. 

Mr.  Grindle,  who  carried  on  a  moderate  lumber  business  in 
AtaugaCity,  neglected  no  opportunity  of  making  himself  heard 
in  public.  He  was  a  man  of  shallow  faculties,  but  profound 
conceit  of  himself,  and  would  have  preferred,  at  any  time,  to 
be  abused  rather  than  ignored.  His  naturally  fluent  speech 
had  been  cultivated  by  the  practice  of  years,  but  as  he  was 
neither  an  earnest  thinker  nor  a  close  reasoner,  and,  moreover, 
known  to  be  unscrupulous  in  the  statement  of  facts,  the  consider- 
ation which  he  enjoyed  as  a  speaker  would  soon  have  become 
exhausted,  but  for  the  boldness  and  indecency  of  his  personal 
attacks,  whereby  he  replenished  that  element  of  hot  water  in 
which  he  rejoiced.  Mr.  Campbell,  the  landlord  of  the  Ptolemy 
House,  had  several  times  threatened  him  with  personal  chas- 
tisement, and  he  only  escaped  by  avoiding  an  encounter  until 
the  landlord's  wrath  had  a  little  cooled.  He  was  so  accus- 
tomed to  insulting  epithets  that  they  never  produced  the  slight- 
est impression  upon  him. 

He  had  spoken  nearly  half  an  hour,  airing  a  quantity  of  sta- 
listics,  which  he  bad  mostly  committed  to  memory — where 
that  failed,  he  supplied  the  figures  from  his  imagination— 
whon  he  perceived  that  the  audience,  after  having  tasted  the 
spiced  meats  of  Mr.  Abiram  StokeS;  s^jemed  to  find  the  plain 
food  he  offered  them  rather  insipid.  But  he  had  still  the  re- 
source of  personality,  wliich  he  knew,  from  long  experience,  ia 
always  entertaining,  whether  or  not  the  hearers  approve  of  it. 
The  transition  was  easily  made.  "Looking  at  this  terrible 
11 


242  HAlTNAH   THUESTOlf: 

array  of  facts,"  said  lie,  "how  can  any  man,  who  is  worthy  the 
name  of  a  human  being,  dare  to  oppose  the  doctrines  of  Tem- 
perance ?  How  dare  any  man  suppose  that  his  own  miserable 
personal  indulgences  are  of  more  consequence  than  the  moral 
Balvation  of  his  fellow-creatures?  Yet  there  are  such  men — 
not  poor,  ignorant,  deluded  creatures,  who  know  no  better 
iiid  are  entitled  to  some  allowances — but  men  who  are  rich, 
who  appear  to  be  educated,  and  who  claim  to  be  highly  moral 
and  respectable.     What  are  we  to  think  of  those  men  ?" 

Mrs.  Waldo  glanced  up  at  Woodbury  with  a  look  which 
said  :  "  Now  it's  coming !" 

"  Let  it  come !"  his  look  replied. 

"They  think,  perhaps,"  the  speaker  continued,  *'that  there 
are  different  laws  of  morality  for  different  climates — that  they 
can  bring  here  among  us  the  detestable  practices  of  heathen 
races,  which  we  are  trying  to  root  out !  I  tell  such,  they  had 
better  go  back,  and  let  their  unhappy  slaves  hand  them  the 
hookah,  filled  with  its  intoxicating  drauglit,  or  steady  their 
totteiing  steps  when  the  fumes  of  sherbet  have  mounted  to 
their  brains !" 

Many  persons  in  the  assembly  knew  who  was  meant,  and 
as  Woodbury's  position  made  him  easily  distinguished,  they 
watched  him  with  curiosity  as  the  speaker  proceeded.  He 
leaned  against  the  tree,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  an  amused 
half-smile  on  his  face,  until  the  foregoing  climax  was  reached, 
when,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  spectators,  he  burst  into  an 
uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter. 

Mr.  Grindle,  too,  liad  discovered  his  victim,  and  occasionally 
darted  a  side  look  at  him,  calculating  how  far  he  might  carry 
the  attack  with  safety  to  himself.  Woodbury's  sudden  and 
violent  merriment  encouraged  while  it  disconcerted  him :  there 
was,  at  least,  nothing  to  be  feared,  and  he  might  go  on. 

"Yes,  I  repeat  it,"  he  continued;  "whatever  name  may  be 
given  to  the  beverage,  we  are  not  to  be  cheated.  Such  men 
may  drink  their  sherbet,  or  their  Heidsick;  they  may  call  their 
drinks  by  respectable  cames,  and  the  demon  of  Alcohol  laugLi 


A    STOKY    OF   AJIEBICAN   LIFE.  248 

M  he  claims  them  for  his  own.  St.  Paul  says  '  the  Prince  of 
Darkness  is  a  gentleman  :'  beware,  beware,  my  friends,  lest  the 
accursed  poison,  which  is  harmless  to  you  under  its  vulgar 
names,  should  beguile  you  with  an  aristocratic  title !" 

"  Will  the  speaker  allow  me  to  make  a  remark  ?" 

Woodbury,  controlling  his  laughter  with  some  difficulty^ 
straightened  himself  from  his  leaning  position  against  the  tree, 
and,  yielding  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  spoke.  His  voice, 
not  loud,  but  veiy  clear,  was  distinctly  heard  all  over  the 
crowd,  and  there  was  a  general  rustling  sound,  as  hundreds  of 
heads  turned  towards  him.  Mr.  Grindle  involuntarily  paused 
in  his  speech,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  I  will  only  interrupt  the  proceedings  for  a  moment,"  Wood- 
bury resumed,  in  a  cool,  steady  tone,  amidst  the  perfect  silence 
of  the  multitude — "  in  order  to  make  an  explanation.  I  will 
not  wrong  the  speaker  by  supposing  that  his  words  have  a 
personal  application  to  myself;  because  that  would  be  charging 
him  with  advocating  truth  by  means  of  falsehood,  and  defend- 
ing morality  by  the  weapons  of  ignorance  and  insult.  But 
I  know  the  lands  of  Avhich  he  speaks  and  the  habits  of  their 
people.  So  far  from  drunkenness  being  a  '  detestable  heathen 
habit'  of  theirs,  it  is  really  we  who  should  go  to  them  to  learn 
temperance.  I  must  confess,  also,  my  great  surprise  at  hearing 
the  speaker's  violent  denunciation  of  the  use  of  sherbet,  after 
seeing  that  it  is  openly  sold,  to-day,  in  this  grove — after  hav- 
ing, with  my  own  eyes,  observed  the  speaker,  himself,  drink 
a  large  glass  of  it  with  evident  satisfaction." 

There  was  a  sudden  movement,  mixed  here  and  there  with 
liiughter,  among  the  audience.  Mr.  Grindle  cried  out,  in  a 
hoarse,  excited  voice:  "The  charge  is  false!  I  never  use  in- 
toxicating beverages !" 

"I  made  no  such  charge,"  said  Woodbury,  calmly,  "but  it 
may  interest  the  audience  to  know  that  sherbet  is  simply  tHe 
Arabic  i.ame  for  lemonade." 

The  la  Lighter  was  universal,  Mr.  Grirdle  excepted. 

"The  speaker,  also,"  he  continued,   'mentioned  the  inter i 


244  HANNAH  thubston: 

eating  beverage  of  the  hookah.  As  the  hookah  is  a  pipe,  in 
wliicli  the  smoke  of  the  tobacco  passes  through  water  before 
reaching  the  mouth,  it  may  be  considered  a  less  dangerous 
beverage  than  the  clay-pipe  of  the  Irish  laborer.  I  beg  pardon 
of  the  meeting  for  my  interruption." 

The  laughter  was  lenewed,  more  heartily  than  before,  and 
ibr  a  minute  after  Woodbury  ceased  the  tumult  was  so  great 
that  Mr.  Grindle  could  not  be  heard.  To  add  to  the  confusion, 
the  leader  of  the  Ptolemy  band,  taking  the  noise  as  a  sign  that 
the  Convention  had  adjourned,  struck  up  "  Malbrook,"  which 
air,  unfortunately,  was  known  in  the  neighborhood  by  the  less 
classical  title  of  "  We  won't  go  home  till  morning." 

The  other  members  of  the  Committee,  on  the  platform,  pri- 
vately begged  Mr.  Grindle  to  take  his  seat  and  allow  them  to 
introduce  a  new  orator;  but  he  persisted  in  speaking  for  an- 
other quarter  of  an  hour,  to  show  that  he  was  not  discomfited. 
The  greater  portion  of  the  audience,  nevertheless,  secretly  re- 
joiced at  the  lesson  he  had  received,  and  the  remainder  of  his 
speech  was  not  heard  with  much  attention.  Woodbury,  to 
escape  the  curious  gaze  of  the  multitude,  took  a  narrow  and 
uncomfortable  seat  on  the  end  of  the  plank,  beside  Mrs.  Waldo. 
He  was  thenceforth,  very  much  against  his  will,  an  object  of 
great  respect  to  the  rowdies  of  Ptolemy,  who  identified  him 
with  the  opposite  cause. 

There  was  another  song,  commencing : 

"  The  wine  that  all  are  praising 
Is  not  the  drink  for  me. 
But  tiiere'a  a  spring  in  yonder  gien, 
Whose  waters  flow  for  Temperance  men,"  eta, 

which  was  likewise  sung  in  chorus.  Then  succeeded  other 
81)eakers,  of  less  note,  to  a  gradually  diminishing  circle  of  hear- 
ers. I'he  farmers  and  their  wives  strayed  off  to  gossip  with 
acquaintances  on  the  edges  of  the  grove;  baskets  of  provisions 
were  opened  and  the  contents  shared,  and  the  stalls  of  cake 
and  sarsaparilla  suds  expeiienced  a  reflux  of  custom.     As  the 


A   STOKY    OF   AMEEICAN    UFS.  245 

jroung  men  were  not  Lord  Byrons,  the  young  ladies  did  not 
scruple  to  eat  in  their  presence,  and  flirtations  were  carried  ou 
with  a  chicken-bone  in  one  hand  and  a  piece  of  bread  in  the 
other.  The  sun  threw  softer  and  slanter  lights  over  the  beau- 
tiful picture  of  the  valley,  and,  gradually  creeping  below  the 
uoughs,  shot  into  the  faces  of  those  who  were  still  seated  iri 
front  of  the  platform.  It  was  time  to  close  the  performance! 
of  the  day,  and  they  were  accordingly  terminated  with  a  third 
song,  the  refrain  of  wliich  was  : 

"  Oh,  for  the  cause  is  roDiiif?  on,  roUing  on,  rolliiig  oi^ 
Over  the  darkened  land." 

Woodbury  and  the  "Waldos,  to  avoid  the  dust  of  the  road, 
walked  back  to  Ptolemy  by  a  pleasant  path  across  the  fields. 
Ere  long  they  overtook  Hannah  Thurston  and  Miss  Dilworth. 
Mr.  Grindle  was,  of  course,  the  theme  of  conversation. 

"  Wasn't  he  rightly  served,  Hannah  ?"  Mrs.  Waldo  ex 
claimed,  with  enthusiasm.  Woodbury  was  fast  assuming 
heroic  proportions,  in  her  mind. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Woodbury  was  entirely  justifiable  in  his  inter- 
ruption," Miss  Thurston  answered,  "  and  yet  I  almost  wish 
that  it  had  not  occurred." 

*'  So  do  I !"  Woodbury  exclaimed. 

"Well — ^you  two  are  qu«»er  people  1"  was  Mrs.  WaIdo*i 
unazed  reP9i»rk 


S4tt  UkUSAH.  thubston: 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

nr   WHICH  THBBB  IS  BOTH  ATTBACIION  AND   BKPULSIOV. 

Hannah  Thubston's  remark  remained  in  Woodbury's  ean 
long  after  it  was  uttered.  His  momentary  triumph  over,  he 
began  to  regret  having  obeyed  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 
Mr.  Grindle's  discomfiture  had  been  too  cheaply  purchased ; 
he  was  game  of  a  sort  too  small  and  mean  for  a  man  of  refined 
instincts  to  notice  even  by  a  look.  His  own  interruption,  cool 
and  careless  as  he  felt  it  to  have  been,  nevertheless  betrayed 
an  acknowledgment  that  he  had  understood  the  speaker's  in- 
sinuation ;  and,  by  a  natural  inference,  that  he  was  sufficiently 
sensitive  to  repel  it.  Mr.  Grindle  was  acute  enough  to  make 
this  inference,  and  it  was  a  great  consolation  to  him,  in  his 
own  overthrow,  to  think  that  he  had  stung  his  adversary. 

Woodbury,  however,  forgot  his  self-blame  in  the  grateful 
surprise  of  hearing  its  echo  from  Miss  Thurston's  lips.  Her 
remark  betrayed  a  delicacy  of  perception  which  he  had  not 
expected — more  than  this,  indeed,  it  betrayed  a  consideration 
for  his  character  as  a  gentleman,  which  she  could  not  have  felt, 
had  she  not,  in  imagination,  placed  herself  in  his  stead.  He 
knew  that  a  refined  nature  must  be  born  so ;  it  can  only  bo 
partially  imitated  by  assiduous  social  study;  and  his  previous 
intercourse  with  Miss  Thurston  had  not  prepared  him  to  find 
her  instincts  so  true.  He  looked  at  her,  as  she  walked  beside 
him,  with  a  renewed  feeling  of  interest.  Her  slender  figure 
moved  along  the  grassy  path  with  a  fi-ee,  elastic  step.  She 
wore  a  dress  of  plain  white  muslin,  with  wide  sleeves,  and  a 
knot  of  pearl-colored  ribbon  at  the  throat.  Her  parasol,  and 
the  trimming  of  her  hat,  were  of  the  same  quiet  color;  the 


A   STORY    OF   AMEKICAN  LIFE.  247 

only  ornament  she  wore  was  a  cluster  of  little  pink  flowers  in 
the  latter.  The  excitement  of  the  occasion,  or  the  act  of 
walking,  had  brought  a  soft  tinge  to  her  usually  pale  cheek, 
and  as  her  eyes  dropped  to  avoid  the  level  light  of  the  sun, 
Woodbury  noticed  how  long  and  dark  were  the  lashes  that 
fringed  her  lids.  "  At  eighteen  she  must  have  been  lovely,* 
he  said  to  himself,  "but,  even  then,  her  expression  could 
scarcely  have  been  more  virginly  pure  and  sweet,  than  now." 

He  turned  away,  repressing  a  sigh.  How  one  delusion 
could  spoil  a  noble  woman  ! 

Before  descending  the  last  slope  to  the  village,  they  paused, 
involuntarily,  to  contemplate  the  evening  landscape.  The  sun 
was  just  dipping  behind  the  western  hill,  and  a  portion  of 
Ptolemy  lay  in  shadow,  while  the  light,  streaming  through  the 
gap  made  by  a  lateral  glen,  poured  its  dusty  gold  over  the 
distant  elms  of  Roaring  Brook,  and  caused  the  mansion  of 
Lakeside  to  sparkle  like  a  star  against  its  background  of  firs. 
Far  down  the  lake  flashed  the  sail  of  a  pleasure-boat,  and  the 
sinking  western  shore  melted  into  a  vapory  purple  along  the 
dim  horizon.  The  strains  of  the  band  still  reached  thorn  from 
the  grove,  but  softened  to  the  airy,  fluctuating  sweetness  of 
an  ^olian  harp. 

"  Our  lines  are  cast  in  pleasant  places,"  said  Mr.  Waldo, 
looking  from  hill  to  hill  with  a  cheerful  content  on  his  face. 

"Every  part  of  the  earth  has  its  moments  of  beauty,  I 
think,"  Woodbury  replied :  "  but  Ptolemy  is  certainly  a 
fevored  si^ot.  If  the  people  only  knew  it.  I  wonder  whether 
happiness  is  not  a  faculty,  or  a  peculiarity  of  temperament, 
quite  independent  of  the  conditions  of  one's  life  ?" 

"  Tliat  depends  on  what  you  call  happiness,"  Mrs.  Waldo 
rejoined.  "  Come,  now,  let  us  each  define  it,  and  see  bow  we 
shall  agree.  My  idea  is,  it's  in  making  the  best  of  everj 
thing." 

"No,  it's  tindiii.sj:  a  coiicTL'nial  s})irit !''  crit'd  Miss  Carrie. 

"  You  tbriiel  the  assuraucu  of  Giare,"  said  the  clergyman. 

"Fairly  cau"-ht,  Mrs.  Waldo  1     You  are  no  better  than  I 


248  HAIWAH   THUKSTOW: 

you  coTifess  yourself  an  optimist!"  Woodbury  merrily  ex 
claimed.  "So  far,  you  are  right — but,  unfortunately,  there 
are  some  things  we  cannot  make  the  best  of." 

"We  can  always  do  our  duty,  for  it  is  proportioned  to  out 
DOwer,"  said  Hannah  Thurston. 

"If  we  know  exactly  what  it  is." 

"  Why  should  we  not  know  ?"  she  asked,  turning  qniokly 
towards  him. 

"  Because  the  simple  desire  to  know  is  not  enough,  althougt 
I  trust  God  gives  us  some  credit  for  it.  How  much  of  Truth 
is  there,  that  we  imperfectly  grasp !  How  much  is  there,  also, 
that  we  shrink  from  knowing!" 

"Shrink  from  Truth!" 

"  Yes,  since  we  are  human,  and  our  nearest  likeness  to  God 
is  a  compassionate  tenderness  for  our  fellow-men.  Does  not 
the  knowledge  of  a  vice  in  a  dear  friend  give  us  pain?  Do 
we  not  cling,  most  desperately,  to  our  own  cherished  opinions, 
at  the  moment  when  we  begin  to  suspect  they  are  untenable  ? 
No :  we  are  not  strong  enough,  nor  stony-hearted  enough,  to 
do  without  illusions." 

"  Yet  you  would  convince  me  of  mine !"  Hannah  Thurston 
exclaimed,  \vith  a  shade  of  bitterness  in  the  tone  of  her  voice. 
The  next  moment  she  felt  a  pang  of  self-rebuke  at  having 
spoken,  and  the  color  rose  to  her  face.  The  application  she 
had  made  of  his  words  was  uncalled-for.  He  must  not  thus  be 
met.  He  was  so  impregnable  in  his  calnmess,  and  in  the  con- 
clusions drawn  from  his  ripe  experience  of  life !  Her  own 
faith  tottered  whenever  their  minds  came  in  contact,  yet  if  she 
gave  up  it,  how  could  she  be  certain,  any  longer,  what  wag 
Truth  ?  He  was  not  a  hard  materialist ;  he  possessed  fancy, 
and  feeling,  and  innate  reverence;  but  his  approach  seemed  t. 
chill  her  enthusiasm  and  benumb  the  free  action  of  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  no  !"  he  answered,  with  kindly  seriousness,  "I  would 
not  consciously  destroy  a  single  innocent  illusion.  There  are 
even  forms  of  Error  which  are  only  rendered  worse  b_y  antag- 
onism.    I  have  no  idea  of  assailing  all  views  that  do  not  liar 


A    STOKY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFB.  d4( 

monize  witli  my  own.  I  am  but  one  among  many  millions, 
and  my  aim  is  to  understand  Life,  not  forcibly  change  its 
character." 

Walking  a  little  in  advance  of  the  others,  as  they  spoke,  the 
conversation  was  interrupted  by  their  arrival  in  Ptolemy. 
Woodbury  declined  an  invitation  to  take  tea  with  the  Waldos, 
and  drove  home  with  Bute,  in  the  splendor  of  sunset.  The 
latter  took  advantage  of  the  first  opportunity  to  describe  to 
Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  the  confusion  which  his  master  had 
inflicted  on  Mr.  Grindle. 

"  And  sarved  him  right,  too,"  said  she,  with  a  grim  satisfac- 
tion. "  To  think  o'  him  turnm'  up  his  nose  at  Jier  best  Sherry, 
and  caUin'  it  pizon  I" 

She  could  not  refrain  from  expressing  her  approbation  to 
Woodbury,  as  she  prepared  his  tea.  Her  manner,  however, 
made  it  seem  very  much  like  a  reproof.  "  I've  heerd,  Sir," 
she  remarked,  with  a  rigid  face,  "  that  you've  been  speakin'.  I 
s'pose  you'll  be  goin'  to  the  Legislatur',  next." 

Woodbury  smiled.     "  HI  news  travels  fast,"  he  said. 

"  'T'a'n't  ill,  as  I  can  see.  She  wouldn't  ha'  thought  so, 
nutber.  Though,  to  be  sure,  sich  fellers  didn't  come  here,  in 
her  time." 

"  He  will  not  come  again,  Mrs.  Babb." 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him  try  it !"  With  which  words  Mrs. 
Babb  slapped  down  the  lid  of  the  teapot,  into  which  she  had 
been  looking,  with  a  sound  like  the  discharge  of  a  pocket-pistol. 

Woodbury  went  into  the  library,  wheeled  his  arm-chair  to 
the  open  window,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  watched  the  risen  moon 
brighten  against  the  yielding  twilight.  The  figure  of  Hannah 
Thurston,  in  her  white  dress,  with  the  pearl-colored  ribbon  at 
iier  throat,  with  the  long  lashes  falling  over  her  dark-gray  eyes, 
the  flush  on  her  cheek,  and  the  earnest  sweetness  of  her  lips, 
rose  before  him  through  the  rings  of  smoke,  in  the  luminous 
dusk  of  the  evening.  A  persistent  fote  seemed  to  throw  them 
together,  only  to  show  him  how  near  they  might  have  been, 
how  far  apart  they  really  were.  When  he  recalled  her  cour 
11* 


250  HANNAH  THURSTON : 

age  and  self-possession  during  the  scene  in  tJie  grove  above  tbc 
cataract,  and  the  still  greater  courage  which  led  her  to  Tiberius, 
daring  reproach  in  order  to  rescue  a  deluded  creature  from  ini' 
pending  ruin,  he  confessed  to  himself  that  for  no  other  living 
woman  did  he  feel  equal  respect.  He  bowed  down  in  rever- 
ence before  that  highest  purity  which  is  unconscious  of  what 
it  ventures,  and  an  anxious  interest  arose  in  his  heart  as  he  re- 
cognized the  dangers  into  which  it  might  lead  her.  He  fell 
thai  she  was  capable  of  understanding  him  ;  that  she  possessed 
the  finer  instincts  which  constituted  what  was  best  in  his  own 
nature ;  that  she  yielded  him,  also,  a  certain  respect :  but  it 
was  equally  evident  that  her  mind  was  unnecessarily  alert  and 
suspicious  in  his  presence.  She  assumed  a  constant  attitude 
of  defence,  when  no  attack  was  intended.  He  seemed  to  ex- 
ercise an  unconscious  repellant  force  towards  her,  the  secret  of 
which  he  suspected  must  be  found  in  herself — in  the  tenacity 
with  which  she  held  to  her  peculiar  views,  and  a  feminine  im 
patience  of  contrary  opinions. 

But,  as  he  mused,  his  fimcies  still  came  back  to  that  one  pic- 
ture— the  pure  Madonna  face,  with  its  downcast  eyes,  touched 
with  the  mellow  glory  of  the  sunset.  A  noiseless  breath  of 
the  night  brought  to  his  window  the  creamy  odor  of  the  locust 
blossoms,  and  lured  forth  the  Persian  dreams  of  the  roses. 
The  moonlight  silver  on  the  leaves — the  pearly  obscurity  of 
the  sky — the  uncertain  murnmrs  of  the  air — combined  to  steep 
his  senses  in  a  sweet,  semi-voluptuous  trance.  He  was  too 
truly  and  completely  man  not  to  know  what  was  lacking  to 
his  life.  He  was  accustomed  to  control  passion  because  he 
had  learned  its  symptoms,  but  this  return  of  the  fever  of  youtt 
was  now  welcome,  with  all  its  pain. 

Towards  midnight,  he  started  suddenly  and  closed  the  win- 
dow. "  My  God !"  he  exclaimed,  aloud ;  "  she  in  my  arms  t 
her  lips  on  mine!  What  was  I  thinking  of?  Pshaw — a  strong- 
minded  woman!  Well  -the  very  strongest-minded  of  them ~ 
all  is  siill  very  far  from  being  a  man."  With  which  consoling 
excuse  for  the  absurdity  of  his  thoughts,  he  went  to  bed. 


A   STORY    OF   AMEUICAIT   LIPB.  251 

The  uext  morning  he  spent  an  hour  in  a  careful  inspection 
of  the  library,  aud,  after  hesitating  between  a  ponderous  trans- 
lation of  the  "  Mahorbharata'^  and  Lane's  "  Arabian  Nights," 
finally  replaced  them  both,  and  took  down  Jean  Paul's  "Sie 
benkas  "  and  "  Walt  and  Vult."  After  the  early  Sunday  din 
ner,  he  put  the  volumes  into  his  pockets,  and,  mounting  his 
horse,  rode  to  Ptolemy. 

Hannah  Thurston  had  brought  a  chair  into  the  open  air,  and 
seated  herself  on  the  shady  side  of  the  cottage.  The  afternoon 
was  semi-clouded  and  mildly  breezy,  and  she  evidently  found 
the  shifting  play  of  sun  and  shade  upon  the  eastern  hill  better 
reading  than  the  book  in  her  hand,  for  the  latter  was  closed. 
She  recognized  Woodbury  as  he  came  into  the  street  a  little 
distance  below,  and  watched  the  motion  of  his  horse's  legs 
under  the  boughs  of  the  balsam-firs,  which  hid  the  rider  from 
sight.  To  her  surprise,  the  horse  stopped,  opposite  the  cot- 
tage-door :  she  rose,  laid  down  her  book,  and  went  forward  to 
meet  her  visitor,  who,  by  this  time,  had  entered  the  gate. 

After  a  frank  and  unembarrassed  greeting,  she  said  :  "  My 
mother  is  asleep,  and  her  health  is  so  fi'ail  that  I  am  very  care- 
ful not  to  disturb  her  rest.  Will  you  take  a  seat,  here,  in  the 
shade?" 

She  then  withdrew  for  a  moment,  in  order  to  bring  a  second 
chair.  In  the  mean  time,  Woodbury  had  picked  up  her  book  • 
it  was  Bettine's  Correspondence  with  Gilnderode.  "  I  am  glad,'* 
said  be,  looking  up  at  her  approach,  "  that  I  was  not  wrong  in 
my  selection." 

She  answered  his  look  with  an  expression  of  surprise. 

"  I  am  going  away,  in  a  few  days,  for  a  summer  excursion,' 
he  added,  by  way  of  explanation,  taking  the  books  from  hi 
pockets,  "  and  in  looking  over  my  library  this  morning  I  found 
two  works,  which,  it  occurred  to  me,  you  might  like  to  read. 
The  sight  of  this  volume  convinces  me  that  I  have  judged 
correctly :  they  are  also  translations  from  the  German." 

Hannah  Thurston's  eyes  brightened  as  she  took  the  books 
and  looked  at  their   title-pages.     "  Oh  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  I 


262  HAinsTAH  thubstok: 

thank  you  vmy  much !     I  have  long  wished  to  sue  these  works 
Lydia  Maria  Child  speaks  very  highly  of  them." 

"  Who  is  Lydia  Maria  Child?" 

She  looked  at  him,  almost  in  dismay.     "  Have  you  Devei 

read  her  'Letters  from  New  York?'"  she  asked.     "  I  do  not 

appose  you  are  a  subscriber  to   the  Slavery  Annihilator 

which  she  edits,  but  these  letters  have  been  collected  and  pub 

lished." 

"  Are  they  doctrinal  ?" 

"  Perhaps  you  would  call  them  so.  She  has  a  generous  sym- 
pathy with  all  Progress ;  yet  her  letters  are  mostly  descriptive. 
r  would  offer  them  to  you,  if  I  were  sure  that  you  would  read 
them  willingly — not  as  a  task  thrust  upon  you." 

"You  would  oblige  me,"  said  Woodbury,  cordially.  "I 
am  not  unwilling  to  hear  new  views,  especially  when  they  are 
eloquently  presented.  Anna  Maria  Child,  I  presume,  is  an 
advocate  of  Woman's  Rights  ?" 

"  You  will,  at  least,  find  very  little  of  such  advocacy  in  her 
letters." 

"  And  if  I  should  ?"  he  asked.  "  Do  not  confound  me,  Miss 
Thurston,  with  the  multitude  who  stand  in  hostile  opposition 
to  your  theory,  I  am  very  willing  that  it  should  be  freely  dis-- 
cussed,  because  attention  may  thereby  be  drawn  to  many  real 
wrongs.  Besides,  in  the  long  run,  the  practice  of  the  human 
race  is  sensible  and  just,  and  nothing  can  be  permanently 
adopted  which  is  not  very  near  the  truth." 

'"'■^lieal  wrongs  !'"  she  repeated ;  "  yes,  I  suppose  our  wrongs 
are  generally  considered  imaginary.  It  is  a  convenient  way 
of  disposing  of  them." 

"  Is  that  charge  entirely  fair  ?"  * 

She  colored  slightly.  Is  the  man's  nature  flint  or  iron,  she 
thought,  that  his  mind  is  so  equably  clear  and  cold  ?  Would 
not  antagonism  rouse  him  into  warmth,  imparting  an  answer- 
ing warmth  to  her  thoughts,  which  his  unimpassioned  manner 
chilled  to  death  ?  Then  she  remembered  his  contagious  gay- 
ety  during  the  walk  to  Ptolemy,  liis  terrible  indignation  in  the 
inn  at  Tiberias,  and  felt  that  she  had  done  him  wrong. 


A  STOBT   OF   A&IEBICAN  LIFIB.  26 1 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,"  she  answered,  presently.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  apply  the  charge  to  you,  Mr.  Woodbury.  I  waa 
thinking  of  the  prejudices  we  are  obliged  to  encounter.  We 
present  what  we  feel  to  be  serious  truths  in  relation  to  our  sex, 
and  they  are  thrown  aside  with  a  contemptuous  indifference, 
which  wounds  us  more  than  the  harshest  opposition,  because 
h  implies  a  disbeUef  in  our  capacity  to  think  for  ourselves.  You 
Aiust  know  that  the  word  'feminine,'  applied  to  a  man,  is  the 
greatest  reproach—  that  the  phrase  '  a  woman's  idea'  is  never 
uttered  but  as  a  condemnation." 

^'  I  have  not  looked  at  the  subject  from  your  point  of  view," 
said  Woodbury,  with  an  expressed  respect  in  his  manner, 
"but  I  am  willing  to  believe  that  you  have  reason  to  feel 
aggrieved.  You  must  remember,  however,  that  the  reproach 
is  not  ail  on  one  side.  You  women  are  just  as  ready  to  con- 
demn masculine  habits  and  ideas  in  your  own  sex.  Among 
children  a  molly-coddle  is  no  worse  than  a  tomboy.  The  fact, 
after  all,  does  not  originate  in  any  natural  hostility  or  contempt, 
on  either  side,  but  simply  from  an  instinctive  knowledge  of 
the  distinctions  of  sex,  in  temperament,  in  habits,  and  in 
mind." 

"In  mind  ?"  Hannah  Thurston  asked,  with  unusual  calmness. 
"  Then  you  think  that  minds,  too,  are  male  and  female  ?" 

"  That  there  are  general  distinctions,  certainly.  The  exact 
boundaries  between  them,  however,  are  not  so  easily  to  be 
defined.  But  there  is  a  radical  difference  in  the  texture,  and 
hence  in  the  action  of  the  two.  Do  you  not  always  instinctive- 
ly feel,  in  reading  a  book,  whether  the  author  is  a  man  or  a 
woman  ?  Can  you  name  any  important  work  which  miglit 
have  been  written,  indifferently,  by  either  ?" 

Miss  Thurston  reflected  a  while,  and  then  suggested :  "Mrei 
Somerville's  '  Physical  Geography  ?'  " 

"  Faniy  answered,"  said  Woodbury,  smiling.  "  I  will  not 
reject  the  instance.  I  will  even  admit  that  a  woman  might 
write  a  treatise  on  algebraic  equations,  in  which  there  shoidd 
be  no  sign  of  her  sex.     Still,  this  would  not  affect  the  mair 


264  HANNAH   THUBSTON  ' 

fact,  which  I  think  you  will  recoguize  upon  reflection.  I  admit 
the  greatness  of  the  immortal  women  of  History.  Nay,  more : 
I  claim  that  men  are  not  only  willing,  without  the  least  touch 
Df  jealousy,  to  acknowledge  genius  in  "Woman,  but  are  always 
the  first  to  recognize  and  respect  it.  What  female  poet  haf 
selected  for  her  subject  that  '  whitest  lily  on  the  shield  oi 
France,'  the  Maid  of  Orleans  ?  But  Schiller  and  Southey  havfl 
not  forgotten  her.  How  rare  it  is,  to  see  one  of  these  famous 
women  eulogized  by  a  woman !  The  principal  advocate  of 
your  cause — what  is  her  name? — Bessie  Stryker,  would  be 
treated  with  more  fairness  and  consideration  by  men  than  by 
those  of  her  own  sex  who  are  opposed  to  her  views." 

"Yes,  that  is  it,"  she  answered,  sadly;  "we  are  dependent 
on  men,  and  fear  to  offend  them." 

"This  much,  at  least,  seems  to  be  true,"  said  he,  "that  a  sense 
of  reliance  on  the  one  hand  and  protection  on  the  other  consti- 
tutes a  firmer  and  tenderer  form  of  union  than  if  the  natures 
were  evenly  balanced.  It  is  not  a  question  of  superiority, 
but  of  radical  and  necessary  difference  of  nature.  Woman 
is  toe  finely  organized  for  the  hard,  coarse  business  of  the 
world,  and  it  is  for  her  own  sake  that  man  desires  to  save  her 
from  it.  He  stands  between  her  and  human  nature  in  the 
rough." 

"  But  could  she  not  refine  it  by  her  presence  ?" 

"Never — never!"  exclaimed  Woodbury.  "On  the  con- 
trary, it  would  drag  her  down  to  unutterable  depths.  If 
woman  had  the  right  of  suffrage  there  would  be  less  swearing 
among  the  rowdies  at  the  polls,  the  first  time  they  voted,  but 
ai  the  end  of  five  years  both  sexes  would  swear  together 
That  is" — he  added,  seeing  the  shocked  expression  of  Hannah 
Thurskm's  face, — "  supposhig  them  to  be  equally  implicated  in 
the  present  machinery  of  politics.  The  first  time  a  female 
candidate  went  into  a  bar-room  to  canvass  for  votes,  she  would 
see  the  inmates  on  their  best  behavior ;  but  this  could  not  last 
long.  She  would  soon  cither  be  drivea  from  the  field,  or 
brought  down  to  the  same  level.    Nay,  she  would  go  beloi 


A   StORT    OF   AMERICAN    I,1FE.  SC6 

it,  for  the  rudest  woman  would  be  injured  by  asscciationi 
through  which  the  most  refined  man  might  pass  unharmed." 

The  tone  of  grave  conviction  in  his  words  produced  a  strong 
though  painful  impression  upon  his  hearer.  She  had  heard 
very  nearly  the  same  things  said,  in  debate,  but  they  were 
always  met  and  apparently  overcome  by  the  millennial  assuran 
ces  of  her  friends — by  their  firm  belief  in  the  possible  perfec- 
tion of  human  nature,  an  illusion  which  she  was  too  ready  to 
accept.  A  share  in  all  the  special  avocations  of  Man,  she  had 
believed,  would  result  in  his  elevation,  not  in  the  debasement 
of  Woman. 

"  I  should  not  expect  a  sudden  change,"  she  said,  at  last, 
"  but  might  not  men  be  gradually  redeemed  from  their  low 
tastes  and  habits  ?  Might  not  each  sex  learn  from  the  other 
only  what  is  best  and  noblest  in  it  ?  It  would  be  very  sad  if 
all  hope  for  the  future  must  be  taken  away  from  us." 

"  All  hope  ?  No !"  said  "Woodbury,  rising  from  his  seat. 
"  The  human  race  is  improving,  and  will  continue  to  improve 
Better  hope  too  much  than  not  at  all.  But  between  the  na- 
tures of  the  sexes  there  is  a  gulf  as  wide  as  all  time.  The  laws 
by  which  each  is  governed  are  not  altogether  arbitrary;  they 
have  grown,  age  after  age,  out  of  that  difiBrence  in  mental  and 
moral  development  of  which  I  spoke,  and  which — pardon  me 
— you  seem  to  overlook.  Whatever  is,  is  not  always  right,  but 
you  may  be  sure  there  is  no  permanent  and  universal  rela- 
tion founded  on  error.  You  would  banish  profanity,  excesses, 
brute  force  from  among  men,  would  you  not  ?  Have  you  ever 
reflected  that  these  things  are  distorted  forms  of  that  energy 
which  has  conquered  the  world?  Mountains  are  not  torn 
down,  rivers  bridged,  wildernesses  subdued,  cities  built,  slates 
founded,  and  eternal  dikes  raised  against  barbarism,  by  the 
eaters  of  vegetables  and  the  drinkers  of  water !  Every  man  who 
is. worth  the  name  possesses  something  of  the  coarse,  oiiginal 
fibre  of  the  race:  he  lacks,  by  a  wise  provision  of  Providence, 
that  finer  protecting  instinct  which  holds  woman  back  from 
the  rude,  material  aitpeets  of  human  nature.     He  knows  aud 


J266  HANKAn  THUESTOlf: 

recognizes  as  inevitable  facts,  many  things,  of  which  she  doe* 
not  even  suspect  the  existence.  Therefore,  Miss  Thurston, 
when  you  apply  to  men  the  aspirations  of  progress  which  you 
have  formed  as  a  woman,  you  must  expect  to  be  disappointed. 
[*ardon  me  for  speaking  so  plainly,  in  opposition  to  views 
which  I  know  you  must  cherish  with  some  tenderness.  I 
Dave,  at  least,  not  been  guilty  of  the  offence  which  yon 
ch/irged  upon  my  sex." 

"No,"  she  answered,  *'you  have  been  frank,  Mr.  Wood- 
bury, and  I  know  that  you  are  sincere.  But  may  not  your 
views  be  still  somewhat  colored  by  the  old  prejudice  ?" 

She  blushed,  the  moment  after  she  spoke.  She  had  endeav- 
ored to  moderate  her  expressions,  yet  her  words  sounded 
harsh  and  offensive. 

But  Woodbury  smiled  as  he  answered :  "  If  it  be  so,  why 
should  old  prejudices  be  worse  than  new  ones?  A  prejudice 
is  a  weed  that  shoots  up  over  night.  It  don't  take  two  years 
to  blossom,  like  this  foxglove." 

He  broke  off  one  of  the  long  purple  bells,  and  stuck  it  in  the 
button-hole  of  his  coat. 

"  I  like  what  slowly  matures,  and  lasts  long,"  said  he. 

Hannah  Thurston  repeated  some  words  of  thanks  for  the 
books,  as  he  gave  her  his  hand.  From  the  shade  of  the  fir  she 
watched  him  mount  and  ride  into  the  village.  '*  He  will  prob- 
ably take  tea  with  the  Waldos,"  she  thought :  "I  shall  stay  at 
home." 

She  resumed  her  seat,  mechanically  taking  up  the  volumes 
he  had  left,  but  did  not  open  them.  His  words  still  lingered 
in  her  mind,  with  a  strange,  disturbing  effect.  She  felt  that 
he  exercised  an  influence  over  her  which  she  was  not  able  sat- 
isfactorily to  analyze.  The  calmness  of  his  utterance,  the  ripe- 
ness of  his  opinions,  the  fairness  of  his  judgment,  attracted 
her :  she  knew  no  man  who  compelled  au  equal  respec* :  yet 
there  seemed  to  be  very  little  in  common  between  them.  She 
never  met  him  witliout  a  painful  doubt  of  herself  being  awac 
keufcd,  which  lasted  long  after  his  departure.    She  determined 


A    STORY    OP   AMEKICAN   LIFB.  IS"? 

f^ain  and  again,  to  avoid  these  mental  encounters,  but  some 
secret  force  irresistibly  led  her  to  speak.  She  felt,  in  her  in* 
most  soul,  the  first  lifting  of  a  current,  which,  if  it  rose,  would 
carry  her,  she  knew  not  where.  A  weird,  dangerous  power 
in  his  nature  seemed  to  strike  at  the  veiy  props  on  which  her 
life  rested.  With  a  sensation,  almost  of  despair,  she  whis- 
pered to  herself:  "I  will  see  him  no  more." 

Woodbury,  riding  down  the  street,  shook  his  hean?,  and 
thought,  as  he  unnecessarily  pricked  his  horse  with  the  spur ; 
"  I  fear  she  is  incorrigible." 


35ft  a^NNAH   TUUEaXOMt 


CHAPTER  XX. 

IN     WHICH    SETH   WATTLES    18    AGAIN    DISAPPOINTBD. 

After  tlieir  return  from  Tiberius  the  life  of  the  Merryfieliii 
was  unusually  quiet  and  subdued.  The  imprudent  wife,  re- 
leased from  the  fatal  influence  which  had  enthralled  her,  grad- 
ually came  to  see  her  action  in  its  proper  light,  and  to  under- 
stand the  consequences  she  had  so  happily  escaped.  She 
comprehended,  also,  that  there  was  a  point  beyond  which  her 
husband  could  not  be  forced,  but  within  which  she  was  secure 
of  his  indulgent  love.  Something  of  the  tenderness  of  their 
eai'ly  married  life  returned  to  her  in  those  days ;  she  forgot 
her  habit  of  complaint;  suspended,  out  of  very  shame,  her 
jealous  demand  for  her  "  I'ights ;"  and  was  almost  the  busy, 
contented,  motherly  creature  she  had  been  to  James  Merry- 
field  before  either  of  them  learned  that  they  were  invested 
with  important  spiritual  missions. 

He,  also,  reflected  much  upon  what  had  happened.  He  per- 
ceived the  manner  in  which  his  wife's  perverted  views  had 
grown  out  of  the  belief  they  had  mutually  accepted.  ThQ 
possible  abuses  of  this  belief  became  evident  to  him,  yet  his 
loind  was  unable  to  detect  its  inherent  error.  It  rested  en  a 
few  broad,  specious  propositions,  which,  having  accepted,  hu 
was  obliged  to  retain,  with  all  their  consequences.  He  had 
neither  sufficient  intellectual  culture  nor  experience  of  life  to 
understand  that  the  discrepancy  between  the  ideal  reform  and 
its  practical  realization  arose,  not  so  much  from  the  truths 
asstarted  as  from  the  truths  omitted  or  concealed.  Thus,  tha 
ib''mer  serenity  of  his  views  became  painfully  clouded  and  dis* 
turbed,  and   there  were  times  when  he  felt  that  he  doubted 


A   STORT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  258 

what  he  knew  must  be  true.  It  was  better,  he  said  to  himself 
that  he  should  cease,  for  a  while,  to  speculate  on  the  subject ; 
but  his  thoughts  continually  returned  to  it  in  spite  of  himself. 
He  greatly  felt  the  need  of  help  in  this  extremity,  yet  an  \m 
wnquerable  shyness  prevented  hitn  from  applying  to  either  of 
Ihe  two  persons — Woodbury  or  Mr.  Waldo — who  were  capa 
ble  of  giving  it.  Towards  his  wife  he  was  entirely  kind  and 
considerate.  After  the  first  day  or  two,  the  subject  of  the 
journey  to  Tiberius  was  tacitly  dropped,  and  even  the  question 
of  Woman's  Rights  was  avoided  as  much  as  possible. 

While  he  read  aloud  the  "  Annihilator'^  in  the  evening,  and 
Mrs.  Merryfield  knit  or  sewed  as  she  listened,  the  servant-girl 
and  the  field-hand  exchanged  their  opinions  in  the  kitchen. 
They  had  detected,  the  first  day,  the  change  in  the  demeanor 
of  the  husband  and  wife.  "  They've  been  havin'  a  row,  and 
no  mistake,"  said  Henry,  "  and  I  guess  he's  got  the  best  of  it." 

"  No  sich  a  thing,"  rephed  Ann,  indignantly.  "  Him,  in- 
deed !  It's  as  plain  as  my  hand  that  he's  awfully  cut  up,  and 
she's  took  pity  on  him." 

"  Why,  she's  as  cowed  as  can  be !" 

"  And  he's  like  a  dog  with  his  tail  between  his  legs." 

There  was  a  half- earn  est  courtship  going  on  between  the 
two,  and  each,  of  course,  was  interested  in  maintaining  the 
honor  of  the  sex.  It  was  a  prolonged  battle,  renewed  from 
day  to  day  with  re-enforcements  drawn  from  observations  made 
at  meal-times,  or  in  the  field  or  kitchen.  Most  persons  who 
attemi)t  to  conceal  any  strong  emotion  are  like  ostriches  with 
their  heads  in  the  sand  :  the  dullest  and  stupidest  of  mankind 
will  feel,  if  not  see,  that  something  is  the  matter.  If,  to  a  mat 
who  knows  the  world,  the  most  finished  result  of  hypocrisy 
often  fiiils  of  its  elFect,  the  natural  insight  of  those  who  do  not 
think  at  all  is  scarcely  less  sure  and  true.  The  highest  art 
that  ever  a  Jesuit  attained  could  not  blind  a  ship's  crew  or  a 
company  of  soldiers. 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  Merryfields,  that,  while  their  de 
pendents  fel<  the  change,  the  truth  was  beyond  their  suspicions 


260  HANNAH   THUESTON  : 

Towards  the  few  who  knew  it,  there  was  of  course  no  necessity 
for  disguise,  and  hence,  after  a  solitude  of  ten  days  upon  the 
farm,  Mr.  Merryfield  experienced  a  sense  of  relief  and  satisfac- 
tion, as,  gleaning  the  scattered  wheat  with  a  hay-rake  in  a  field 
adjoining  the  road,  he  perceived  Hannah  Thurston  approach- 
ing from  Ptolemy.  Hitching  his  horse  to  the  fence,  he  climbed 
over  into  the  I'oad  to  meet  her.  It  was  a  warm  afternoon,  and 
he  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  unbuttoned  waistcoat ;  but, 
in  the  country,  conventionalities  have  not  reached  the  point  of 
the  ridiculous,  and  neither  he  nor  his  visitor  was  aware  of  the 
least  impropriety.  The  farmers,  in  fact,  would  rather  show 
their  own  brawny  arms  and  bare  breasts  than  see  the  bosoms 
of  their  daughters  exposed  to  the  public  gaze  by  a  fashionable 
ball-dress. 

"  I'm  glad  you've  come,  Hannah,"  said  he,  as  he  gave  her 
his  hard  hand.  "  It  seems  a  long  time  since  I  seen  you  before. 
We've  been  quite  alone  ever  since  then." 

*'  I  should  have  come  to  see  you  sooner,  but  for  mother's  ill- 
ness," she  replied.     "  I  hope  you  are  both  well  and — Chappy." 

Her  look  asked  more  than  her  words. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  understanding  the  question  in  her  mind, 
"  Sarah's  got  over  her  delusion,  I  guess.  Not  a  hard  word 
has  passed  between  us.  We  don't  talk  of  it  any  more.  But, 
Hannah,  I'm  in  trouble  about  the  principle  of  the  thing.  I 
can't  make  it  square  in  my  mind,  as  it  were.  There  seems  to 
be  a  contradiction,  somewhere,  between  principles  and  work- 
ing them  out.  You've  thought  more  about  the  matter  than  I 
have :  can  you  make  things  straight  ?" 

The  struggle  in  Hannah  Thurston's  own  mind  enabled  her 
k)  comprehend  his  incoherent  questions.  She  scarcely  knew 
how  to  answer  him,  yet  would  fain  say  something  to  soothe 
and  comfort  him  in  his  perplexity.  After  a  pause,  she  an- 
swered : 

"  1  fear,  James,  that  I  have  over-estimated  my  own  wisdom 
— that  we  have  all  been  too  hasty  in  drawing  conclusions  from 
abstract  reasoning.     We  have,  perhaps,  been  presumptuous  in 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  261 

taking  it  foi  granted  that  we,  alone,  possessed  a  truth  which 
the  world  at  large  is  too  blind  to  see — or,  admitting  that  all  is 
true  which  we  believe,  that  we  are  too  hasty  in  endeavoring 
to  fulfil  it  in  our  lives,  before  the  needful  preparation  is  made. 
You  know  that  the  field  must  be  properly  ploughed  and  har« 
rowed,  before  you  sow  the  grain.  It  may  be  that  we  are  so 
Impatient  as  to  commence  sowing  before  we  have  ploughed.'' 

This  illustration,  drawn  from  his  own  business,  gave  Merry- 
field  great  comfort.  "  That  must  be  it !"  he  exclaimed.  "  1 
don't  quite  understand  how,  but  I  feel  that  what  you  say  must 
be  true,  nevertheless." 

"Then,"  she  continued,  encouraged  by  the  effect  of  her 
words ;  "  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  we  may  be  too  strict 
in  applying  what  we  know  to  be  absolute,  eternal  truths,  to  a 
life  which  is  finite,  probationary,  and  liable  to  be  affected  by  a 
thousand  influences  over  which  we  have  no  control.  For  in- 
stance, you  may  analyze  your  soil,  and  the  stimulants  you 
apply  to  it — measure  your  grain,  and  estimate  the  exact  yield 
you  ought  to  receive — but  you  cannot  measure  the  heat  and 
moisture,  the  wind  and  hail,  and  the  destructive  insects  which 
the  summer  may  bring  ;  and,  therefore,  you  who  sow  accord- 
ing to  agricultural  laws  may  lose  your  crop,  while  another, 
who  disregards  them,  shall  reap  an  abundant  harvest.  Yet 
the  truth  of  the  laws  you  observed  remains  the  same." 

"  What  would  you  do,  then,  to  be  sure  that  you  are  right  ?" 
the  farmer  asked,  as  he  opened  the  gate  leading  into  his  lane. 

"  To  continue  the  comparison,  I  should  say,  act  as  a  prudent 
husbandman.  Believe  in  the  laws  which  govern  the  growth 
and  increase  of  the  seed,  yet  regulate  your  tillage  according 
to  the  season.  The  crop  is  the  main  thing,  and,  though  it 
•ouuds  like  heresy,  the  farmer  may  be  right  who  prefers  a 
good  harvest  secured  in  deriance  of  rules  to  a  scanty  one  with 
the  observance  of  them.  But  I  had  better  drop  the  figure 
before  I  make  a  blunder." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !"  he  cried.  "  You've  cheered  me  up 
mightily.     There's  sense  in  what  you  say;  queer  that  it  didnt 


S62  HANNAH  tuurston: 

come  into  ni}  miud  before.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  can  work  my 
own  case  so's  to  square  with  it — but  I'll  hold  on  to  the  idee." 

As  they  reached  the  garden,  Hannah  Thurston  plucked  a 
white  rosebud  which  had  thrust  itself  through  the  paling,  and 
fastened  it  to  the  bosom  of  her  dress.  Mr.  Merryfield  iranje- 
diately  gathered  six  of  the  lai'gest  and  reddest  cabbage-roses, 
and  presented  them  with  a  friendly  air. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  stick  them  on  !  That  white  thing  don't 
ahow  at  all.     It's  a  pity  the  pineys  are  all  gone." 

Mrs.  Merryfield,  sitting  on  the  shaded  portico,  rose  and  met 
her  visitor  at  the  gate.  The  women  kissed  each  other,  as 
usual,  though  with  a  shade  of  constraint  on  the  part  of  the  for- 
mer. The  farmer,  judging  it  best  to  leave  them  alone  for  a 
little  while,  went  back  to  finish  his  gleaning. 

After  they  were  comfortably  seated  on  the  portico,  and 
Hannah  Thurston  had  laid  aside  her  bonnet,  there  was  an  awk- 
ward pause.  Mrs.  Merryfield  anticipated  an  attack,  than  which 
nothing  was  further  from  her  visitor's  thought. 

"  How  quiet  and  pleasant  it  is  here !"  the  latter  finally  said 
"  It  is  quite  a  relief  to  me  to  get  away  from  the  village." 

"  People  are  differently  constituted,"  answered  Mrs.  Merry, 
field,  with  a  slight  defiance  in  her  manner  :  "  I  like  society,  and 
there's  not  much  life  on  a  farm." 

"  You  have  enjoyed  it  so  long,  perhaps,  that  you  now 
scarcely  appreciate  it  properly.  A  few  weeks  in  our  little  cot- 
tage would  satisfy  you  which  is  best." 

"  I  must  be  satisfied,  as  it  is ;"  Mrs.  Merryfield  repUed. 
'  We  women  have  limited  missions,  I  suppose." 

She  intended  herewith  to  indicate  that,  although  she  had  do- 
Bisted  from  her  purpose,  she  did  not  confess  that  it  had  beec 
wrong.  She  had  sacrificed  her  own  desires,  and-the  fact  should 
be  set  down  to  her  credit.  "With  Mr.  Waldo  she  would  have 
been  candidly  penitent — more  so,  perhaps,  than  she  had  yet 
allowed  her  husband  to  perceive — but  towards  one  of  her  own 
sez,  especially  a  champion  of  social  reform,  her  only  feeling  wa« 
a  stubborn  determuiatiou  to  vindicate  her  action  as  far  as  pos- 


A   STOEY    OF   AMEEICAl*    IJFB.  268 

•ibie.  Hannah  Thurston  detected  the  under-current  of  hei 
thoTight,  and  strove  to  avoid  an  encounter  with  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  she  ;  "  I  suspect  there  are  few  persons  of  aver 
age  ambition  who  find  a  sphere  broad  enough  to  content  them. 
But  our  merits,  you  know,  are  not  measured  by  that.  Yoo 
may  be  able  to  accomplish  more  good,  here,  in  your  quiet  cir 
ole  of  neighbors,  than  in  some  more  conspicuous  place." 

"/should  be  the  judge  of  that,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Merryfield, 
tartly.  Then,  feeling  that  she  had  been  a  little  too  quick,  she 
added,  with  mournful  meekness  :  "  But  I  suppose  some  lights 
are  meant  to  be  hid,  otherways  there  wouldn't  be  bushels." 

As  she  spoke,  a  light  which  did  not  mean  to  be  hid,  what- 
ever the  accumulation  of  bushels,  approached  from  the  lane. 
It  was  Seth  Wattles,  gracefully  attired  in  a  baggy  blouse  of 
gray  linen,  over  which,  in  front,  hung  the  ends  of  a  huge  pur- 
ple silk  cravat.  He  carried  a  roll  of  paper  in  one  hand,  and 
his  head  was  elevated  with  a  sense  of  more  than  usual  impor- 
tance. The  expression  of  his  shapeless  mouth  became  almost 
triumphant  as  he  perceived  Hannah  Thurston.  She  returned 
his  greeting  with  a  calmness  and  self-possession  which  he  mis- 
took for  a  returning  interest  in  himself. 

By  the  time  the  usual  common-places  had  been  exchanged, 
Merryfield  had  returned  to  the  house.  Seth,  therefore,  hastened 
to  communicate  the  nature  of  his  errand.  "  I  have  been  work- 
ing out  an  idea,"  said  he,  "  which,  I  think,  meets  the  wants  of 
the  world.  It  can  be  improved,  no  doubt, — I  don't  say  that 
it's  perfect — but  the  fundamental  basis  is  right,  I'm  sure." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Merrj^eld,  not  very  eagerly. 

'*  A  Plan  for  the  Reorganization  of  Society,  by  which  we  can 
fighlon  the  burden  of  labor,  and  avoid  the  necessity  of  Govern- 
ments, with  all  their  abuses.  It  is  something  like  Fourier's  plan 
of  Phalansteries,  only  that  don't  seem  adapted  to  this  country. 
And  it  s  too  great  a  change,  all  at  once.  My  plan  can  be  applied 
immediately,  because  it  begins  on  a  smaller  scale.  I'm  sure 
it  will  work,  if  I  can  only  get  it  started.  A  dozen  peisons  are 
enough  to  begin  with." 


264  HANNAU    THURSTON  : 

"  Well,  how  would  you  begin  ?"  asked  the  farmer. 

"  Take  any  farm  of  ordinary  size — yours  for  instance — and 
make  of  it  a  small  community,  who  shall  represent  all  the  neces- 
Bary  branches  of  labor.  With  the  aid  of  machinery,  it  will  b« 
entirely  independent  of  outside  help.  You  want  a  small  steam 
engine,  or  even  a  horse-power,  to  thresh,  grind,  saw,  churn 
turn,  and  hammer.  Then,  one  of  the  men  must  be  a  black 
smith  and  wheelwright,  one  a  tailor,  and  another  a  shoe  and 
harness  maker.  Flax  and  sheep  will  furnish  the  material  foi 
clothing,  maple  and  Chinese  cane  will  give  sugar,  and  there 
will  really  be  little  or  nothing  to  buy.  I  assume,  of  course, 
that  we  all  discard  an  artificial  diet,  and  live  on  the  simplest 
substances.  Any  little  illness  can  be  cured  by  hydropathy, 
but  that  would  only  be  necessary  in  the  beginning,  for  diseases 
would  soon  vanish  from  such  a  community.  The  labor  of  the 
women  must  also  be  divided :  one  Avill  have  charge  of  the  gai*- 
den,  another  of  the  dairy,  another  of  the  kitchen,  and  so  on. 
When  any  branch  of  work  becomes  monotonous,  there  can  be 
changes  made,  so  that,  in  the  end,  each  one  will  understand  all 
the  different  departments.     Don't  you  see  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  see,"  said  Merryfield. 

"  I  was  sure  you  would.  Just  consider  what  an  advantage 
over  the  present  system  1  There  need  not  be  a  dollar  of  out- 
lay :  you  can  take  the  houses  as  they  are.  Nothing  would  be 
bought,  and  all  the  produce  of  the  farm,  beyond  what  the 
community  required  for  its  support,  would  be  clear  gain.  In 
a  few  years,  this  would  amouut  to  a  fund  large  enough  to  hire 
all  the  necessary  labor,  and  the  members  could  then  devote  the 
rest  of  their  lives  to  intellectual  cultivation.  My  plan  is  diplo 
matic — that's  the  word.  It  will  reform  men,  in  spite  of  them 
selves,  by  appealing  to  two  of  their  strongest  passions- 
acquisitiveness  and  love  of  ease.  They  would  get  into  a 
higher  moral  atmosphere  before  they  knew  it." 

"  I  dare  say,"  Merryfield  remarked,  as  he  crossed  one  leg 
over  the  other,  and  then  put  it  down  again,  restlessly.  "  And 
who  19-  to  have  the  general  direction  of  affairs  ?" 


A   STOi«Y    OF   AMERICAlf   LIFB.  M^ 

"  Oil,  there  I  apply  the  republican  principle !"  Seth  exclaimed. 
"It  will  be  decided  by  vote,  after  discussion,  in  which  all  take 
part,  women  as  well  as  men.  Here  is  my  plan  for  the  day. 
Each  takes  his  or  her  turn,  week  about,  to  rise  before  sunrise, 
make  the  fires,  and  ring  a  bell  to  rouse  the  others.  After  '• 
cold  plunge-bath,  one  hour's  labor,  and  then  breakfast,  accom- 
panied by  cheerful  conversation.  Then  work  until  noon,  when 
dinner  is  prepared.  An  hour's  rest,  and  labor  again,  when 
necessary.  I  calculate,  however,  that  six  houi's  a  day  will 
generally  be  sufficient.  Supper  at  sunset,  followed  by  discus- 
sion and  settlement  of  plans  for  the  next  day.  Singing  in 
chorus,  half  an  hour  ;  dancing,  one  hour,  and  conversation  on 
moral  subjects  until  eleven  o'clock,  Avhen  the  bell  rings  for  rest. 
You  s>ee,  the  plan  combines  every  thing ;  labor,  recreation, 
society,  and  mental  improvement.  As  soon  as  we  have  estab- 
lished a  few  communities,  we  can  send  messengers  between 
them,  and  will  not  be  obliged  to  support  the  Government 
through  the  Post-Office.    Now,  I  want  you  to  begin  the  reform.'* 

"  Me  !"  exclaimed  Merryfield,  with  a  start. 

"  Yes,  it's  the  very  thing.  You  have  two  hundred  acres, 
and  a  house  big  enough  for  a  dozen.  I  think  we  can  raise  the 
community  in  a  little  while.  We  can  call  it  '  Merryfield,'  or, 
if  you  choose,  in  Latin — Tanner  says  it's  Campus  Gaudius,  or 
something  of  the  kind.  It  will  soon  be  known,  far  and  wide, 
and  we  must  have  a  name  to  distinguish  it.  I  have  no  doubt 
the  Whitlows  would  be  willing  to  join  us ;  Mrs.  Whitlow 
could  take  the  dairy,  and  Miss  Thurston  the  garden.  He's 
been  in  the  grocery-line :  he  could  make  sugar,  until  he  got 
ftcq'jainted  with  other  kinds  of  work." 

'*  Dairy,  indeed  !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Merryfield.  "  Yes,  she'd 
like  to  skim  cream  and  drink  it  by  the  tumbler-full,  no  doubt. 
A  delightful  community  it  would  be,  Avith  the  cows  in  Acr 
charge,  somebody  else  in  the  bedrooms,  and  me  seeing  to  the 
Iritchen !' 

"Before  I'd  agree  to  it,  I'd  see  all  the  communities " 

M.r.  Merryfield" s  exclamatiou  terminated  with  a  stronger 
12 


8M  HAioTAH  thtjeston: 

word  than  his  wtfe  had  heard  him  utter  for  years.  He  jumped 
from  his  seat,  as  he  spoke,  and  strode  up  and  down  the  portico. 
Hannah  Thurston,  in  spite  of  a  temporary  shock  at  the  unex* 
pected  profanity,  felt  that  her  respect  for  James  Merryfield 
had  undergone  a  slight  increase.  She  was  a  little  surprised  at 
horself,  that  it  should  be  so.  As  for  Seth  Wattles,  he  waa 
completely  taken  aback.  He  had  surmised  that  his  plan  might 
meet  with  some  technical  objections,  but  he  was  certain  that 
it  would  be  received  with  sympathy,  and  that  he  should  finally 
persuade  the  fxrmer  to  accept  it.  Had  the  latter  offered  him 
a  glass  of  whiskey,  or  drawn  a  bowie-knife  from  his  sleeve,  he 
could  not  have  been  more  astounded.  He  sat,  with  open 
mouth  and  staring  eyes,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"  Look  here,  Seth,"  said  Merryfield,  pausing  in  his  walk ; 
"  neither  you  nor  me  a'n't  a-going  to  reform  the  world.  A 
good  many  things  a' n't  right,  I  know,  and  as  far  as  talking 
goes,  we  can  speak  our  mind  about  'era.  But  when  it  comes 
to  fixing  them  yourself,  I  reckon  you  want  a  little  longer  ap- 
prenticeship first.  I  sha'n't  try  it  at  my  age.  Make  as  pretty 
a  machine  as  you  like,  on  paper,  but  don't  think  you'll  set  it 
up  in  my  house.     There's  no  inside  works  to  it,  and  it  won't  go." 

"  Why — why,"  Seth  stammered,  "  I  always  thought  you 
were  in  favor  of  Social  Reform." 

"  So  I  am — but  I  want,  first,  to  see  how  it's  to  be  done 
I'll  tell  you  what  to  do.  Neither  you  nor  Tanner  are  married, 
and  have  no  risk  to  run.  Take  a  couple  more  with  you,  and 
»et  up  a  household  :  do  your  cooking,  washing,  sweeping,  and 
bed-making,  by  turns,  and  if  you  hold  together  six  months, 
and  say  you're  satisfied,  I'll  have  some  faith  in  your  plan." 

"And  get  Mrs.  Whitlow  to  be  one  of  your  Community," 
added  Mrs.  Merryfield,  "or  the  experiment  won't  be  worth 
much.  Let  her  take  care  of  your  dairy^  and  Mary  Wollstono- 
craft  and  Phillis  Wheatley  tend  to  your  garden.  Send  me 
word  when  you're  ready,  and  I'U  come  and  see  how  you  get 
on  I" 

"  I  don't  need  to  work,  as  it  is,  more  than's  healthy  for  me," 


A    STORT    OF   AIEERICAII   UFA.  2W 

her  husband  continued,  '*  and  I  don't  want  Sarah  to,  neither. 
I  can  manage  my  farm  without  any  trouble,  and  I've  no  notion 
of  taking  ten  green  hands  to  bother  me,  and  then  have  to  di- 
vide my  profits  with  them.  Show  me  a  plan  that'll  give  me 
Bomething  more  than  I  have,  instead  of  taking  away  the  most 
of  it." 

"  Why,  the  society,  the  intellectual  cultivation,"  Seth  re- 
marked, but  in  a  hopeless  voice. 

"I  don't  know  as  I've  much  to  learn  from  either  you  or  Tan- 
ner. As  for  Whitlows,  all  I  can  say  is,  I've  tried  'em.  But 
what  do  you  think  of  it,  Hannah  ?" 

"  Very  much  as  you  do.  I,  for  one,  am  certainly  not  ready 
to  try  any  such  experiment,"  Miss  Thurston  replied.  "  I  still 
think  that  the  family  relation  is  natural,  true,  and  necessary, 
yet  I  do  not  wonder  that  those  who  have  never  known  it  should 
desire  something  better  than  the  life  of  a  boarding-house.  I 
know  what  that  is." 

"  Seth,"  said  Merryfield,  recovering  from  his  excitement, 
which,  he  now  saw,  was  quite  incomprehensible  to  the  disap- 
pointed tailor,  "there's  one  conclusion  I've  come  to,  and  Td 
advise  you  to  turn  it  over  in  your  own  mind.  You  and  me  may 
be  right  in  our  ideas  of  what's  wrong  and  what  ought  to  be 
changed,  but  we're  not  the  men  to  set  things  right.  I'm  not 
Garrison,  nor  yet  Wendell  Phillips,  nor  you  a —  what's  his 
name  ? — that  Frenchman  ? — oh,  Furrier,  and  neither  of  then^^ 
done  any  thing  yet  but  talk  and  write.  We're  only  firemen  on 
the  train,  as  it  were,  and  if  we  try  to  drive  the  engine,  we  may 
just  run  every  thing  to  smash  " 

The  trying  experience  through  which  Merryfield  had  passed, 
was  not  without  its  good  res  ilts.  There  was  a  shade  more  of 
firmness  in  his  manner,  of  directness  in  his  speech.  The  mere 
sentiment  of  the  reform,  which  had  always  hung  about  him 
awkw^ardly,  and  sometimes  even  ludicrously,  seemed  to  have 
quite  disappeared ;  and  though  his  views  had  not  changed — at 
least,  not  consciously  so — they  passed  through  a  layer  of  re- 
awakened practical   sense   somewhere  between  the  organs  o/ 


268  HANNAH  Tiiunsio.v: 

thought  and  speech,  and  thus  assumed  a  different  coloring, 
He  was  evidently  recovering  from  that  very  prevalent  disor- 
der— an  actual  paralysis  of  the  reasoning  faculties,  which  the 
rictim  persists  in  considering  as  their  highest  state  of  activity 

Seth  had  no  spirit  to  press  any  further  advocacy  of  his  sub- 
lime scheme.  He  merely  heaved  a  sigh  of  coarse  texture,  and 
romarked,  in  a  desponding  tone :  "  There's  not  much  satbfao- 
tion  in  seeing  the  Right,  unless  you  can  help  to  fulfil  it.  I  may 
not  have  more  than  one  talent,  but  I  did  not  expect  you  to 
offer  me  a  napkin  to  tie  it  up  in." 

This  was  the  best  thing  Seth  ever  said.  It  surprised  him- 
self, and  he  repeated  it  so  often  afterwards,  that  the  figure  be- 
came as  inevitable  a  part  of  his  speeches,  as  the  famous  two 
horsemen,  in  a  certain  author's  novels. 

Merry  field,  seeing  how  completely  he  was  vanquished,  be- 
came the  kind  host  again  and  invited  him  to  stay  for  tea. 
Then,  harnessing  one  of  his  farm-horses,  he  drove  into  Ptolemy 
for  his  semi-weekly  mail,  taking  Hannah  Thurston  with  him. 
As  they  were  about  leaving,  Mrs.  Merryfield  suddenly  ap- 
peared at  the  gate,  with  a  huge  bunch  of  her  garden  flowers, 
and  a  basket  of  raspberries,  for  the  Widow  Thurston.  She  was, 
in  reality,  very  grateful  for  the  visit.  It  had  dissipated  a  secret 
anxiety  which  had  begun  to  trouble  her  during  the  previous 
two  or  three  days. 

"Who  knows" — she  said  to  herself,  sitting  on  the  portico  io 
the  twilight,  while  a  breeze  from  the  lake  shook  the  woodbines 
on  the  lattice,  and  bathed  her  in  their  soothing  balm — "  who 
knows  but  there  are  Mrs.  Whitlows,  or  worse,  there,  tool" 


A.  ATORT    OF   Ai\t£BICAA    I^FlE.  <l4itt 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

"WITH   AN  KlfTIBK  CHANGE   OF  SCEXB. 

Aftkb  leaving  Lakeside,  Maxwell  Woodbury  first  directed 
Ids  course  to  Niagara,  to  refresh  himself  with  its  inexhaustible 
beauty,  before  proceeding  to  the  great  lakes  of  the  North- 
west. His  intention  was,  to  spend  six  or  eight  weeks  amid 
the  bracing  atmosphere  and  inspiring  scenery  of  the  Northern 
frontier,  both  as  a  necessary  change  from  his  quiet  life  on  the 
farm,  and  in  order  to  avoid  the  occasional  intense  heat  of  the 
Atauga  Valley.  From  Niagara  he  proceeded  to  Detroit  and 
Mackinaw,  where,  enchanted  by  the  bold  shores,  the  wild 
woods,  and  the  marvellous  crystal  of  the  water,  he  remained 
for  ten  days.  A  change  of  the  weather  to  rain  and  cold  obli- 
ged him  to  turn  his  back  on  the  attractions  of  Lake  Superior 
and  retrace  his  steps  to  Niagara.  Thence,  loitering  down  the 
northern  shore  of  Ontario,  shooting  the  rapids  of  the  Thousand 
Isles,  or  delaying  at  the  picturesque  French  settlements  on  the 
Lower  St.  Lawrence,  he  reached  Quebec  in  time  to  take  one 
of  the  steamboats  to  the  Saguenay. 

At  first,  the  superb  panorama  over  which  the  queenly  city  ifl 
?uthroned — the  broad,  undulating  shores,  dotted  with  the  cot- 
ages  of  the  hahitans — the  green  and  golden  fields  of  the  Isle 
tVOrleans,  basking  in  the  sun — the  tremulous  silver  veil  of  the 
cataract  of  Montmorency,  fluttering  down  the  dark  rocks,  and 
the  blue  ranges  of  the  distant  Laurentian  mountains — absorbed 
all  tlie  new  keenness  of  his  faculties.  Standing  on  the  prow  of 
the  hurricane-d.ck,  he  inhaled  the  life  of  a  breeze  at  once 
resinous  from  interminable  forests  of  larch  and  fir,  and  sharp 


270  HANNAH   THDRSTan; 

with  the  salt  of  the  ocean,  as  he  watched  the  grander  sweef 
of  the  slowly  separating  shores.  Except  a  flock  of  Quebecken 
on  their  way  to  Murray  Bay  and  Riviere  du  Loup,  there  wera 
but  few  passengers  on  board.  A  professor  from  a  college  in 
New  Hampshire,  rigid  in  his  severe  propriety,  looked  through 
nis  gold-rimmed  spectacles,  and  meditated  on  the  probable 
geology  of  the  headland  of  Les  Eboulemens ;  two  Georgians, 
wh<)  smoked  incessantly,  and  betrayed  in  their  accent  that  of 
the  negro  children  with  whom  they  had  played,  commented, 
wiih  unnecessary  loudness,  on  the  miserable  appearance  of  the 
Canadian  "peasants;"  a  newly-married  pair  from  Cincinnati 
sat  apart  from  the  rest,  dissolved  in  tender  sentiment;  and 
a  tall,  stately  lady,  of  middle  age,  at  the  stern  of  the  boat, 
acted  at  the  same  time  as  mother,  guide,  and  companion  to  two 
very  pretty  children — a  girl  of  fourteen  and  a  boy  of  twelve. 

As  the  steamboat  halted  at  Murray  Bay  to  land  a  number  of 
passengers,  Woodbury  found  time  to  bestow  some  notice  on 
his  fellow-travellers.  His  attention  was  at  once  drawn  to  the 
lady  and  children.  The  plain,  practical  manner  in  which  they 
were  dressed  for  the  journey  denoted  refinement  and  cultivar 
tion.  The  Cincinnati  bride  swept  the  deck  with  a  gorgeous 
purple  silk ;  but  this  lady  wore  a  coarse,  serviceable  gray 
cloak  over  her  travelling-dress  of  brown  linen,  and  a  hat  of 
gray  straw,  without  ornament.  Her  head  was  turned  ♦oward? 
the  shore,  and  Woodbury  could  not  see  her  face;  but  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  as  she  spoke  to  the  children,  took  familiar 
hold  of  his  ear.  He  had  certainly  heard  that  voice  before; 
but  Avhere,  and  when  ?  The  boat  at  last  backed  away  from 
the  pier,  and  she  turned  her  head.  Her  face  was  a  long  oval, 
with  regular  and  noble  features,  the  brow  still  smooth  and 
serene,  the  dark  eyes  soft  and  bright,  but  the  hair  prematurely 
gray  on  the  temples.  Her  look  had  that  cheerful  calnmesg 
which  is  the  maturity  of  a  gay,  sparkling  temijerament  of 
youth,  and  which  simply  reserves,  not  loses,  its  fire. 

Woodbury  involuntarily  struck  his  hand  upon  his  forehead, 
with  a  sudden  effort  of  meniorv.    Perhaps  ncticing  this  action, 


A   STORY   OP   AMEBICAK   LIFE.  271 

the  lady  looked  towards  him  and  their  eyes  met.  Hers,  too, 
betrayed  surprise  and  semi-recognition.  He  stepped  instantly 
forward. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  he,  "  if  I  am  mistaken,  but  I  feel  sure 
that  I  have  once  known  you  as  Miss  Julia  Remington.  Am  I 
not  riglit  ?" 

"That  was  my  name  fifteen  years  ago,"  she  answered,  slowly. 
**  Why  cannot  I  recall  yours  ?     I  remember  your  face." 

"  Do  you  not  remember  having  done  me  the  honor  to  attend 

a  soiree  which  I  gave,  at  the  corner  of  Bowery  and  

street  ?'* 

"  Mr.  Woodbury !"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out  both  her 
hands .  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  again !  Who  could  have 
di'eamed  that  two  old  friends  should  come  from  Calcutta  and 
St.  Louis  to  meet  at  the  mouth  of  the  Saguenay  ?" 

"  St.  Louis !" 

"  Yes,  St.  Louis  has  been  my  home  for  the  last  ten  years. 
But  you  must  know  my  present  name — Blake :  wife  of  An- 
drew Blake,  and  mother  of  Josephine  and  George,  besides 
uW-  younger  ones,  waiting  for  me  at  Saratoga.  Come  here, 
Josey  ;  come,  George — this  is  Mr.  Woodbury,  whom  I  used  to 
know  many,  many  years  ago  in  New  York.  You  must  be 
good  friends  Avith  him,  and  perhaps  he  will  tell  you  of  the 
wonderful  ball  he  once  gave." 

Woodbury  laughed,  and  cordially  greeted  the  children,  who 
came  to  him  willi  modest  respect,  but  without  embarrassment. 
Long  before  the  boat  bad  reached  Riviere  du  Loup,  the  old 
fi'iendship  was  sweetly  re-established,  and  two  new  members 
introduced  into  its  circle. 

Mrs.  Blake  had  been  spending  some  weeks  at  Saratoga, 
partly  with  her  husband  and  partly  alone,  while  he  attended  to 
eome  necessary  business  in  Xew  York  and  Philadelphia.  This 
bu>iness  had  obliged  him  to  give  up  his  projected  trip  to  tho 
Saguenay,  and  it  was  arranged  that  his  wife  should  make  it  in 
company  with  the  two  oldest  children,  the  youngest  being 
left,  meanwhile,  in  tlic  care  of  a  faithful  servant. 


272  HANNAH    THUESTOV 

Woodbury  liad  always  held  Miss  Remington  In  gratefii4 
remembrance,  and  it  was  a  great  pleasure  to  him  to  meet  her 
thus  unexpectedly.  He  found  her  changed  in  outward  appear 
ance,  but  soon  perceived  that  her  admirable  common  sense,  htr 
faithful,  sturdily  independent  womanhood,  were  still,  as  for- 
merly, thfe  basis  of  her  nature.  She  was  one  of  those  rare 
women  who  are  at  the  same  time  as  clear  and  correct  as  pos 
Bible  in  their  perceptions,  penetrating  all  the  disguises  and 
illusions  of  life,  yet  unerringly  pure  and  true  in  instinct  and 
feeling.  Such  are  almost  the  only  women  with  whom  thor- 
oughly devdoped  and  cultivated  men  can  form  those  intimate 
and  permanent  friendships,  in  which  both  heart  and  brain 
find  the  sweetest  repose,  without  the  necessity  of  posting  a 
single  guard  on  any  of  the  avenues  which  lead  to  danger. 
Few  women,  and  still  fewer  men,  understand  a  friendship  of 
this  kind,  and  those  who  possess  it  must  brave  suspicion  and 
misunderstanding  at  every  turn. 

The  relation  between  Woodbury  and  Miss  Remington  hac 
never,  of  course,  attained  this  intimacy,  but  they  now  instinc- 
tively recognized  its  possibility.  Both  had  drunk  of  the  cuf 
of  knowledge  since  their  parting,  and  they  met  again  on  a 
more  frank  and  confidential  footing  than  they  had  previously 
known.  Mrs.  Blake  was  so  unconsciously  correct  in  her  im- 
pulses that  she  never  weighed  and  doubted,  before  obeying 
them.  The  wand  of  her  spirit  never  bent  except  where  the 
hidden  stream  was  both  pure  and  strong. 

Tliat  evening,  as  the  boat  halted  at  Riviere  du  Loup  f:r  the 
night,  they  walked  the  hurricane-deck  in  the  long  Northern 
twilight,  and  talked  of  the  Past.  Many  characters  had  faded 
away  from  the  sight  of  both;  others  had  either  fallen  from 
their  early  promise,  or  soared  surprisingly  far  above  it ;  but 
all,  with  their  attendant  loves,  and  jealousies,  and  hates,  stood 
out  sharp  and  clear  in  the  memory  of  the  speakers.  Mrs. 
Blake,  then,  in  answer  to  Woodbury's  inquiries,  gave  him  a 
rapiu  sketch  of  her  own  life. 

"I  am  quite  satisfied,''  she-  said  at  the  close.     "My  husband 


A    STORY    OF    AUrERICA?^-   LIFE.  27S 

18  not  exactly  the  preux  chevalier  I  used  to  imagine,  as  a  girl, 
but  he  is  a  true  gentleman" — 

"You  never  could  have  married  him,  if  he  were  not,* 
Woodbury  interrupted. 

— "  a  true  gentleman,  and  an  excellent  man  of  business, 
which  is  as  necessary  in  this  age  as  knighthood  was  in  those 
famous  Middle  ones.  Our  married  life  has  been  entirely  happy 
from  the  start,  because  we  mutually  put  aside  our  illusions, 
and  made  charitable  allowances  for  each  other.  "We  did  not 
attempt  to  cushion  the  sharp  angles,  but  courageously  clashed 
them  together  until  they  were  beaten  into  roundness." 

She  broke  into  a  pleasant,  quiet  laugh,  and  then  went  on : 
"  I  want  you  to  know  my  husband.  You  are  very  different, 
but  there  are  points  of  contact  which,  I  think,  would  attract  both. 
You  have  in  common,  at  least,  a  clear,  intelligent  faculty  of 
judgment,  which  is  a  pretty  sure  sign  of  freemasonry  be- 
tween man  and  man.  I  don't  like  Carlyle  as  an  author,  yet  I 
indorse,  heart  and  soul,  his  denimciation  of  shams.  But  here 
I  am  at  the  end  of  my  history :  now  tell  me  yours." 

She  listened  with  earnest,  sympathetic  interest  to  "Wood- 
bury's narrative,  and  the  closing  portion,  which  related  to  his 
life  at  Lakeside,  evidently  aroused  her  attention  more  than  all 
the  lazy,  uneventful  tropical  years  he  had  spent  in  Calcutta. 
"When  he  had  finished  the  outlines,  she  turned  suddenly  to- 
wards him  and  asked :  "  Is  there  nothing  more  ?" 

"  "What  should  there  be  ?"  he  asked  in  return,  with  a  smile 
which  showed  that  he  understood  her  question. 

""What  should  be,  is  not,  I  know,"  said  she;  "I  saw  that 
much,  at  once.  You  will  allow  me  to  take  a  l?bcrty  which 
I  am  sure  cannot  now  give  pain :  she  is  not  the  cause  of 
it,  1  hope  ?" 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  and  felt  relieved  as  she  de- 
tected no  trace  of  a  pang  which  her  words  might  have  called 
up.  The  expression  of  his  lips  softened  rather  to  pity  as  he 
answered  :  "  She  has  long  ceased  to  have  any  part  in  my  life, 
wid  she  has  now  very  little  in  my  thoughts.  When  I  saw  h& 
12* 


274  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

again,  last  winter,  there  was  not  a  single  fibre  of  my  heart  d\» 
turbed.  I  will  confess  this  much,  however — another  face,  a 
more  hopeless  memory,  long  ago  displaced  hers.  Both  ar« 
goi^e,  and  I  am  now  trying  to  find  a  third." 

Ilis  tone  was  apparently  light  and  indifierent,  but  to  Mrs 
Blake's  true  ear  it  betrayed  both  weariness  and  longing, 
"  You  cannot  be  deceived  the  third  time,"  she  said,  con- 
solingly. 

"  I  was  not  deceived  the  second  time,"  he  answered,  "  but  I 
will  not  tell  you  the  story,  just  now.  It  is  as  completely  at  an 
end  as  if  it  had  never  happened.  Can  you  help  me  to  another 
trial?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "It  is  strange  that  so  few  of  the  best 
men  and  women  discover  each  other.  Nature  must  be  op- 
posed to  the  concentration  of  qualities,  and  continually  striving 
to  reconcile  the  extremes  ;  I  cannot  account  for  it  in  any  other 
way.  You  are  still  young ;  but  do  not  carelessly  depend  on 
your  youth ;  you  are  not  aware  how  rapidly  a  man's  habits 
become  ossified,  at  your  age.  Marriage  involves  certain  mu- 
tual sacrifices,  under  the  most  favorable  circumstances.  Don't 
trust  too  long  to  your  own  strength." 

•'  Ah,  but  where  is  the  girl  with  your  clear  sense,  Mrs.  Blako?" 
asked  Woodbury,  pausing  in  his  walk.  "  My  wife  must  be 
strong  enough  to  know  her  husband  as  he  was  and  is.  The  de- 
ceits which  so  many  men  habitually  practise,  disgust  me.  Who 
would  hear  my  confession,  and  then  absolve  me  by  love?" 

"  Who  ?  Almost  every  woman  that  loves !  No :  I  will 
make  no  exceptions,  because  the  woman  who  would  not  do  so, 
does  not  really  love.  Men  are  cowards,  because  they  fancy 
tbat  women  are,  and  so  each  sex  cheats  itself  through  want  of 
I'aith  in  the  other.     Is  that  a  recent  misgiving  of  yours  ?" 

"  You  are  a  dangerous  friend,  Mrs.  Blake.  Your  husband^ 
I  suspect,  is  forced  to  bo  candid,  out  of  sheer  despair  at  the 
possibility  of  concealing  any  thing  from  you.  Yes,  you  hava 
bterpreted  my  thought  correctly.  I  spoke  with  reference  to 
one  particular  person,  whom  I  am  \  ery  fur  from  loving,  or  even 


A   STORY    OF   AMEEICAN   LIFE,  275 

desiring  to  love,  but  whose  individuality  somewhat  interests 
me.  A  woman's  ideal  of  man,  I  am  afraid,  rises  in  proportion 
to  her  intellectual  culture.  From  the  same  cause,  she  is  not  so 
dependent  on  her  emotions,  and  therefore  more  calculating  and 
exacting.    Is  it  not  so  ?" 

"  Nu,  it  is  not  so !"  replied  Mrs.  Blake,  with  energy.  "  Re- 
collect, we  are  not  speaking  of  the  sham  women." 

"  She  does  not  belong  to  that  class,"  said  Woodbury.  "She 
IB,  in  many  respects,  a  rare  and  noble  character ;  she  possesses 
natural  qualities  of  mind  which  place  her  far  above  the  average 
of  women ;  she  is  pure  as  a  saint,  bold  and  brave,  and  yet 
thoroughly  feminine  in  all  respects  save  one — ^but  that  one 
exceptional  feature  neutralizes  all  the  others." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  She  is  strong-min'ded." 

"  What !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blake,  "  do  you  mean  a  second 
Bessie  Stryker  ?" 

"  Something  of  the  kind — so  far  as  I  know.  She  is  one  of 
the  two  or  three  really  intelligent  women  in  Ptolemy — but 
with  the  most  singularly  exaggerated  sense  of  duty.  Some 
persons  would  have  censured  me  more  considerately  for  for- 
gery or  murder  than  she  did  for  smoking  a  cigar.  I  discussed 
the  subject  of  Women's  Rights  with  her,  the  last  thing  before 
leaving  home,  and  found  her  as  intolerant  as  the  rankest  Con- 
servative. What  a  life  such  a  woman  would  lead  one !  Yet, 
I  confess  she  provokes  me,  because,  but  for  that  one  fault,  she 
would  be  worth  winning.  It  is  vexatious  to  see  a  fine  creature 
BO  spoiled." 

"  With  all  her  fanaticism,  she  seems  to  have  made  a  strong 
tmpression  on  you." 

"  Yes,  I  do  not  deny  it,"  Woodbury  candidly  replied. 
'  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  In  the  first  place,  she  is  still 
■omething  of  a  phenomenon  to  me,  and  therefore  stimulates 
my  curiosity.  Secon<lly,  she  is  far  above  all  the  other  girls  of 
Ftolemy,  both  in  intellect  and  in  natural  refinement.  She 
Kiakes  the  others  so  tanu'  that,  while  I  could  not  possibly  love 


2^6  HANNAEI   THURSIOM  : 

her,  she  prevents  me  from  loving  any  of  them.  What  am  T 
to  do?" 

"  A  diflScult  case,  upon  my  word.  If  I  knew  the  characters, 
T  niiglit  assist  you  to  a  solution.  The  only  random  suggestion 
J  can  make  is  this :  if  the  strong-minded  woman  should  come 
to  love  you,  in  spite  of  her  strength,  it  will  make  short  work 
of  her  theories  of  women's  rights.  Our  instincts  are  stronger 
than  our  ideas,  and  the  brains  of  some  of  us  run  wild  only 
because  our  hearts  are  unsatisfied.  I  should  probal>ly  have 
been  making  speeches  through  the  country,  in  a  Bloomer 
dress,  by  this  time,  if  I  had  not  met  with  my  good  Andrew. 
You  need  not  laugh :  I  am  quite  serious.  And  I  can  give  you 
one  droj)  of  comfort,  before  you  leave  the  confessional :  I  see 
that  your  feelings  are  fresh  and  healthy,  without  a  shade  of 
cynicism :  as  we  say  in  the  West,  the  latch-string  of  your 
heart  has  not  been  pulled  in,  and  I  predict  that  somebody  will 
yet  open  the  door.     Goodnight !" 

Giving  his  hand  a  hearty  nonest  pressure  of  sympathy, 
Mrs.  Blake  went  to  her  state-room.  Woodbury  leaned  over 
the  stern-railing,  and  gazed  upou  the  sprinkles  of  reflected 
starlight  in  the  bosom  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  The  waves 
lapped  on  the  stones  of  the  wharf  with  a  low,  liquid  murmur, 
and  a  boatman,  floating  upwards  with  the  tide,  sang  at  a  dis- 
tance :  "  Jamais  je  ne  iotiblieraV  Woodbury  mechanically 
caught  the  melody  and  sang  the  words  after  him,  till  boat  and 
voice  faded  together  out  of  sight  and  hearing.  It  refreshed 
rather  than  disturbed  him  that  the  eye  of  a  true  woman  had 
looked  upon  his  heart.  "  Whatever  may  be  the  end,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "  she  shall  know  the  whole  truth,  one  day.  When 
we  suspect  that  a  seed  of  passion  may  have  been  dropped  in 
)ur  natures,  we  must  quietly  wait  until  we  feel  that  it  has  put 
forth  roots.  I  did  not  tell  her  the  whole  truth.  I  am  not 
Bure  but  that  I  may  love  that  girl,  with  all  her  mistaken  views. 
Her  face  follows  me,  and  calls  nie  back.  If  each  of  us  could 
Dut  find  the  other's  real  self,  then — why,  then" 

He  did  uol  follow  the  thought  further.     The  old  pang  arose^ 


A.   8T0BT    OF   AMEEICAN   LIFE.  277 

lihe  old  hunger  of  the  heart  came  over  him,  and  brought  with 
it  those  sacred  yearnings  for  the  tenderer  ties  which  follow 
marriage,  and  which  man,  scarcely  less  than  woman,  craves. 
The  red  lights  of  two  cigars  came  down  the  long  pier,  side  by 
side  ;  it  was  the  Georgians,  returning  fn.ra  a  visit  to  the  vil- 
lage. The  New  Hampshire  Professor  approached  him,  and 
poUtely  remarked  :  "  It  is  singular  that  the  Old  Red  Sandstone 
reappears  in  this  locality." 

"  Very  singular,"  answered  Woodbury.  "  Good-night,  Sir  !** 
and  went  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  the  steamer  crossed  to  Tadoussac,  and 
entered  the  pitch-brown  waters  of  the  savage,  the  sublime,  the 
mysterious  Saguenay.  The  wonderful  scenery  of  this  river, 
or  rather  fiord,  made  the  deepest  impression  on  the  new-made 
friends.  It  completely  banished  from  their  minds  the  conver- 
sation of  the  previous  evening.  Who  could  speak  or  even 
think  of  love,  or  the  tender  sorrow  that  accompanies  the 
memory  of  betrayed  hopes,  in  the  presence  of  this  stern  and 
tremendous  reality.  Out  of  water  which  seemed  thick  and 
sullen  as  the  stagnant  Styx,  but  broke  into  a  myriad  beads  of 
dusky  amber  behind  the  steamer's  paddles,  leaped  now  and 
then  a  white  porpoise,  weird  and  solitary  as  the  ghost  of  a 
murdered  fish.  On  either  side  rose  the  headlands  of  naked 
granite,  walls  a  thousand  feet  in  height,  cold,  inaccessible, 
terrible ;  and  even  where,  split  apart  by  some  fore-world  con- 
vulsion, they  revealed  glimpses  up  into  the  wilderness  behind, 
no  cheating  vapor,  no  haze  of  dreams,  softened  the  distant 
picture,  but  the  gloomy  green  of  the  fir-forests  darkened  into 
indigo  blue,  and  stood  hard  and  cold  against  the  gray  sky. 
After  leaving  L'Anse  a  I'Eau,  all  signs  of  human  life  ceased. 
K*)  boat  floated  on  the  black  glass ;  no  fisher's  hut  crouched  in 
the  sheltered  coves;  no  settler's  axe  had  cut  away  a  single 
feather  from  the  ragged  plumage  of  the  hills. 

But  as  they  reached  the  awful  cliffs  of  Trinity  and  Eternity, 
rising  straight  as  plummet  falls  from  their  bases,  a  thousand 
eet  below  the  surface,  to  their  crests,  fifteen  hundred  feet  ir 


278  HANNA.H   THURriTON: 

the  air,  a  wind  blew  out  of  the  north,  tearing  and  rolling 
away  the  gray  covering  of  the  sky,  and  allowing  sudden  flooda 
of  sunshine  to  rush  down  through  the  blue  gaps.  The  hearts 
of  the  travellers  were  lifted,  as  by  the  sound  of  trumpets. 
Far  back  from  between  the  two  colossal  portals  of  rock,  like 
the  double  propylse  of  some  Theban  temple,  ran  a  long,  deef 
gorge  of  the  wilderness,  down  which  the  coming  sunshme 
relied  like  a  dazzling  inundation,  drowning  the  forests  in 
splendor,  pouring  in  silent  cataracts  over  the  granite  walls, 
and  painting  the  black  bosom  of  the  Saguenay  with  the  blue 
of  heaven.  It  was  a  sudden  opening  of  the  Gates  of  the 
North,  and  a  greeting  from  the  strong  Genius  who  sat  en 
throned  beyond  the  hills, — not  in  slumber  and  dreams,  like  his 
languid  sister  of  the  South,  cooling  her  dusky  nakedness  in  the 
deepest  shade,  but  with  the  sun  smiting  his  unflinching  eyes, 
with  his  broad,  hairy  breast  open  to  the  wind,  with  the  best 
blood  of  the  world  beating  loud  and  strong  in  his  heart,  and 
the  seed  of  empires  in  his  virile  loins ! 

Woodbury  was  not  one  of  your  "  gushing"  characters,  who 
cry  out  "  Splendid !"  "  Glorious !"  on  the  slightest  provocation. 
When  most  deeply  moved  by  the  grander  aspects  of  Nature. 
he  rarely  spoke ;  but  he  had  an  involuntary  habit  of  singing 
softly  to  himself,  at  such  times.  So  he  did  now,  quite  onoon- 
sciously,  and  had  got  as  far  as  : 

"  Thy  heart  is  in  the  upper  world, 
And  where  the  chamois  bound ; 
Thy  heart  is  where  the  mountain  flr 
Shakes  to  the  torrent's  sound ;" 

— when  he  suddenly  checked  himself  and  turned  away  will? 
a  laugh  and  a  light  blush  of  self-embarrassment.  He  had  beer 
picturing  to  himself  the  intense  delight  which  Hannah  Thurs 
ton  would  have  felt  in  the  scene  before  him. 

Meanwhile  the  boat  sped  on,  and  soon  reached  the  end  of 
the  voyage  at  Ha-ha  Bay.  Mrs.  Blake  and  her  children  wer« 
delighted   with  their  journey,   to   which  the  meeting   with 


L   8T0ET   OF   AMERICAN   LIFJB.  S79 

Woodbury  had  given  such  an  additional  charm.  As  they 
descended  the  Saguenay  in  the  afternoon,  their  eyes  grew  ac- 
customed to  the  vast  scale  of  the  scenery;  lofEier  and  grander 
arose  the  walls  of  granite,  and  more  wild  and  awful  yawned 
the  gorges  behind  them.  The  St.  Lawrence  now  opened  in 
front  with  the  freedom  of  the  sea,  and  in  the  crimson  light  of 
a  superb  sunset  they  returned  to  Riviere  du  Loup. 

The  companionship  was  not  dropped  after  they  had  reached 
Quebec.  Woodbury  accompanied  them  to  the  Falls  of  the 
Montmorency  and  the  Chaudiere  ;  to  the  Plains  of  Abraham 
and  the  quaint  French  villages  on  the  shores ;  and  their  even- 
ings were  invariably  spent  on  Durham  Terrace,  to  enjoy, 
over  and  over  again,  the  matchless  view.  It  was  arranged 
that  they  should  return  to  Saratoga  together,  by  way  of  Cham- 
plain  and  Lake  George;  and  a  few  more  days  fomid  them 
there,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Blake. 

He  came  at  last ;  and  his  wife  had  not  incorrectly  judged, 
in  supposing  that  there  were  some  points  of  mutual  attraction 
between  the  two  men.  Tlie  Western  merchant,  though  a 
shrewd  and  prudent  man  of  business,  was  well  educated,  had 
a  natural  taste  for  art  (he  had  just  purchased  two  pictures  by 
Church  and  Kensett),  and  was  fomiliar  with  the  literature  of 
the  day.  He  was  one  of  those  fortunate  men  who  are  capable 
of  heartily  enjoying  such  things,  without  the  slightest  ambition 
to  produce  them.  He  neither  complained  of  his  own  vocation, 
nor  did  he  lightly  esteem  it.  He  was  not  made  for  idle 
indulgence,  and  was  sufficiently  prosperous  to  allow  himself 
proper  recreation.  His  temperament,  therefore,  was  healthy, 
cheerful,  and  stimulating  to  those  with  whom  he  came  in  con- 
tact He  was  by  no  means  handsome,  and  had  a  short 
abrupt  manner  of  speaking,  which  Woodbury's  repose  of 
manner  threw  into  greater  distinctness.  His  wife,  howevei, 
knew  his  true  value,  as  he  knew  hers,  and  their  mutual  con 
6dence  w;is  absolute. 

Woodldiry  strongly  urL''e<1  tlicm  to  si>end  a  few  days  with 
aim  at  Lakeside,  on  their  ret";''i.  jou '•ney  to  St.  Louis.     Li  ad? 


280  flAiTNAH  Thurston: 

dition  to  the  pleasure  he  derived  from  their  society,  he  had  % 
secret  desire  that  Mrs.  Blake  should  see  Hannah  Thurston— ^a 
curiosity  to  know  the  impression  which  the  two  women  woald 
make  on  each  other.  What  deeper  motive  lurked  behind  this, 
he  did  not  question. 

The  discussion  of  the  proposal  reminded  him  that  he  had 
not  heard  from  Lakeside  since  his  departure.  He  immediately 
wrote  to  Arbutus  Wilson,  announcing  his  speedy  return,  and 
asking  for  news  of  the  farming  operations.  Six  days  after- 
wards an  answer  came,  net  from  Arbutus,  but  from  Mr 
Waldo — an  answer  of  a  nature  so  unexpected,  that  he  leA 
Saratoga  the  same  night. 


▲   8TOKY   Of    AMERICAN  LIFE.  Ml 


CHAPTER    XXn. 

TS   WHICH   TROUBLE   COKES  TO   LAKESIDB. 

After  Woodbury  had  left  Lakeside  for  his  summer  tour, 
Mrs.  Fortitude  Babb  resumed  her  ancient  authority.  "  Now," 
she  said  to  Bute,  as  they  sat  down  to  supper  on  the  day  of 
his  departure,  "  now  we'll  have  a  quiet  time  of  it.  A  body' 11 
know  what  to  do  without  waitin'  to  be  told  whether  it's  jist 
to  other  people's  likin's." 

"  Why,  Mother  Forty,"  said  Bute,  "  Mr.  Max.  is  as  quiet  a 
man  as  you'll  find  anywhere." 

"Much  you  know  about  him,  Bute.  He  lets  you  go  on 
farmin'  in  y'r  own  way,  pretty  much ;  but  look  at  my  gard'n — 
tore  all  to  pieces !  The  curran'  bushes  away  at  t'other  end — 
half  a  mile  off,  if  you  want  to  git  a  few  pies — and  the  kersan- 
thums  stuck  into  the  yard  in  big  bunches,  among  the  grass ' 
What  would  she  say,  if  she  could  see  it?  And  the  little 
room  for  bed-clo'es,  all  cleaned  out,  and  a  big  bathin'  tub  in 
the  corner,  and  to  be  filled  up  every  night.  Thank  the  Lord, 
he  can't  find  nothin'  to  say  ag'in  my  cookin'.  If  he  was  to 
come  pokin'  his  nose  into  the  kitchen  every  day,  I  dunno  what 
I'd  do !" 

"It's  his  own  garden,"  said  Bute,  sturdily.  "He's  paid  fbi 
it,  and  he's  got  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleases  with  it.  J 
would,  if  't'was  mine." 

"  Oh  yes,  you/  You're  gittin'  mighty  independent,  seems 
to  me.  I  'xpect  nothin'  else  but  you'll  go  off  some  day  with 
that  reedic'lous  thing  with  the  curls." 

"Mother    Forty!"    said   Bute,   rising   suddenly  from   th« 


Lsa  UANNAH  thuestok: 

table,  "  don't  you  mention  her  name  ag'in.  I  don't  want  M 
see  her  any  more,  nor  I  don't  want  to  hear  of  her  1" 

He  strode  out  of  the  house  with  a  fiery  face.  Mrs.  Babh 
Bat,  as  if  thunderstruck.  Little  ^y  little,  however,  a  presouti- 
ment  of  the  truth  crept  through  her  stiff  brain :  she  drew  hef 
thin  lips  firmly  together  and  nodded  her  head.  The  sense  of 
relief  which  she  first  felt,  on  Bute's  account,  was  soon  lost, 
nevertheless,  in  an  angry  feeling  toward  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth. 
Utterly  unaware  of  her  own  inconsistency,  she  asked  herself 
what  the  little  fool  meant  by  turning  up  her  nose  at  such  a 
fine  young  fellow  as  Arbutus — the  very  pick  of  the  farmers 
about  Ptolemy,  though  she,  Fortitude  Babb,  said  it  I  Where 
would  she  find  a  man  so  well-built  and  sound,  so  honest  and 
good-hearted?  Everybody  liked  him;  there  were  plenty  of 
girls  that  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  having  him  for  a  hus- 
band— but  no,  he  was  not  good  enough  for  her.  Ugh  1  the 
nasty,  pert,  stuck-up  little  hussy !  That  comes  o'  wearin'  your 
hair  like  an  Injun  !  But  Arbutus  mustn't  mind ;  there's  as  good 
fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  was  ketched,  and  better  too.  'Twas 
reasonable,  after  all,  that  he  should  marry  some  time ;  a  man's 
a  man,  though  you  brought  him  up  you;  self;  and  the  best 
way  is  to  take  hold  and  help,  when  you  can't  hinder  it. 

Thereupon,  she  set  her  wits  to  work  to  discover  the  right 
kind  of  a  wife  for  her  step-step-son.  It  was  a  perplexing  sud- 
ject :  one  girl  was  slatternly,  another  was  unhealthy,  a  third 
was  too  old,  a  fourth  had  disagreeable  relatives,  a  fifth  was  as 
poor  as  Job's  turkey.  Where  was  the  compound  of  youth, 
iiealth,  tidiness,  thrift,  and,  most  important  of  all,  the  proper 
respect  for  Mrs.  Bubb's  faculties  ?  "  I'll  find  her  yet !"  she  said 
to  herself,  as  she  sat  at  her  knitting,  in  the  drowsy  summer  after- 
noons. Meanwhile,  her  manner  towards  Bute  grew  kindei 
and  more  considerate — a  change  for  which  he  was  not  in  the 
least  grateful.  He  interpreted  it  as  the  expression  of  her 
satisfaction  witli  the  disa|i]>ointnient  under  which  he  still 
smarted.  He  became  moody  and  silent,  and  before  many  days 
bad  elapsed  Mrs.  Babb  was  forced  to  confess  to  herself  that 


A    STORY    OP   AMERICAN  LIFE.  381 

Lakeside  was  lonely  and  uncomfortable  without  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Woodbury. 

As  for  Bute,  though  he  felt  that  he  was  irritable  and  heavy, 
compared  with  his  usual  cheerful  mood,  there  was  more  the 
matter  with  him  than  he  supposed.  The  experience  through 
whii  h  he  had  passed  disturbed  the  quiet  course  of  his  blood. 
Tike  a  mechanism,  the  action  of  which  is  even  and  perfectly 
balanced  at  a  certain  rate  of  speed,  but  tends  to  inevitable  con- 
fusion when  the  speed  is  increased,  his  physical  balance  was 
Badly  disarranged  by  the  excitement  of  his  emotional  nature 
and  the  sudden  shock  which  followed  it.  Days  of  feverish 
activity,  during  which  he  did  the  work  of  two  men  without 
finding  the  comfort  of  healthy  fatigue,  were  followed  by  days 
of  weariness  and  apathy,  when  the  strength  seemed  to  be  gone 
from  his  arm,  and  the  good-will  to  labor  from  his  heart.  His 
sleep  was  either  restless  and  broken,  or  so  unnaturally  pro- 
found that  he  arose  from  it  with  a  stunned,  heavy  head. 

Among  the  summer's  work  which  Mr.  Woodbuiy  had  or- 
dered, after  wheat-harvest,  was  the  draining  of  a  swampy  field 
which  sloped  towards  Roaring  Brook.  An  Irish  ditcher  had 
been  engaged  to  work  upon  it,  but  Bute,  finding  that  much 
more  must  be  done  than  had  been  estimated,  and  restless 
almost  to  nervousness,  assisted  with  his  own  hands.  Day 
after  day,  vrith  his  legs  bare  to  the  thighs,  he  stood  in  the  oozy 
muck,  plying  pick  and  shovel  under  the  burning  sun.  Night 
after  night,  he  went  to  bed  with  a  curiously  numb  and  dead- 
ened feeling,  varied  only  by  nervous  starts  and  thrills,  as  if  the 
bed  were  suddenly  sinking  under  him. 

One  morning,  he  did  not  get  up  at  the  usual  hour.  Mrs. 
IJabb  went  on  with  her  labors  for  breakfast,  expecting  every 
moment  to  see  him  come  down  and  wash  his  face  at  tne  pump 
outside  the  kitchen-door.  The  bacon  was  fried,  the  coffee  was 
boiled,  and  still  he  did  not  appear.  She  opened  tho  door  of 
the  kitchen  staircase,  and  called  in  her  shrillest  tones,  one, 
two,  three  times,  until  finally  an  answer  reached  her  from 
the    bedroom.      Five    minutes    afterwards,   Bute   blmidered 


284  flA.NNAH   THURSTON: 

down  the  stbps,  and,  seeing  the  table  ready,  took  his  accn» 
tomed  seat;. 

"  Well,  Arbutus,  you  have  slep',  sure  enough.  I  s'pose  yoa 
was  tired  from  yisterday,  though,"  said  Mrs.  Babb,  as  she 
transferred  the  bacon  from  the  frying-pan  to  a  queensware 
dish.  Hearing  no  answer,  she  turned  around.  "  Graciouii 
alive!"  she  exclaimed,  "are  you  a-goin'  to  set  down  to  break- 
fast without  washin'  or  combin'  your  hair?  I  do  believe 
you're  asleep  yit." 

Bute  said  nothing,  but  looked  at  her  with  a  silly  smile  whicfc 
seemed  to  confirm  her  words. 

"Arbutus!"  she  cried  out,  "wake  up!  You  don't  kno^ 
what  you're  about.  Dash  some  water  on  your  face,  child ;  if 
I  ever  saw  the  hke !"  and  she  took  hold  of  his  shoulder  with 
one  of  her  bony  hands. 

He  twisted  it  petulantly  out  of  her  grasp.  "Fm  tired, 
Mike,"  he  said :  "  if  the  swamp  wasn't  so  wet,  I'd  like  to  lay 
down  and  sleep  a  spell." 

The  rigid  joints  of  Mrs.  Babb's  knees  seemed  to  give  way 
suddenly.  She  dropped  into  the  chair  beside  him,  lifted  hia 
face  in  both  her  trembling  hands,  and  looked  into  his  eyes. 
There  was  no  recognition  in  them,  and  their  wild,  wandering 
glance  froze  her  blood.  His  cheeks  burned  like  fire,  and  hia 
head  dropped  heavily,  the  next  moment,  on  his  shoulder.  " This 
tussock'll  do,"  he  murmured,  and  relapsed  into  unconsciousness. 

Mrs.  Babb  shoved  her  chair  nearer,  and  allowed  his  head  to 
rest  on  her  shoulder,  while  she  recovered  her  strength.  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  house.  Patrick,  the  field-hand,  was  at 
the  barn,  and  was  accustomed  to  be  called  to  his  breakfast. 
Once  she  attempted  to  do  this,  hoping  that  her  voice  might 
reach  him,  but  it  was  such  an  unnatural,  dismal.croak,  that  sha 
gave  up  in  despair.  Bute  started  and  flung  one  arm  around 
her  neck  with  a  convulsive  strength  which  almost  strangled  her. 
After  that,  she  did  not  dare  to  move  or  speak.  The  cofiee-pot 
boiled  over,  and  the  scent  of  the  scorched  Uquid  filled  the 
kitchen;   the  lat  in  the  frying-pan,  which  she  ha«l   thought- 


A    STOBi    OF   AMERTCAN   LLPE.  28A 

lefisly  set  on  the  stove  again,  on  seeing  Bute,  slowly  dried  to 
a  crisp,  and  she  knew  that  the  bottom  of  the  pan  would  be 
Tuiaed.  These  minor  troubles  strangely  thn?st  themselvea 
athwart  the  one  great,  overwhelming  trouble  of  her  heart,  and 
confused  her  thoughts.  Bute  was  deathly  sick,  and  stark, 
staruig  mad,  was  the  only  fact  which  she  could  realize ;  an  3 
with  her  left  band,  which  was  free,  she  gradually  and  stealth- 
ily removed  his  knife,  fork,  and  plate,  and  pushed  back  the 
table-cloth  as  far  as  she  could  reach.  Then  she  sat  rigidly  as 
before,  listening  to  the  heavy,  irregular  breathing  of  the  inva- 
lid, and  scorched  by  his  burning  head. 

Half  an  hour  passed  before  Patrick's  craving  stomach 
obliged  him  to  disregard  the  usual  call.  Perhaps,  he  finally 
thought,  he  had  not  heard  it,  and  he  then  betook  himself  at 
once  t«  the  house.  The  noise  he  made  in  opening  the  kitchen- 
door,  startled  Bute,  who  clinched  his  right  fist  and  brought  it 
down  on  the  table. 

"  Holy  mother !"  exclaimed  Patrick,  as  he  saw  the  singular 
group. 

Mrs.  Babb  turned  her  head  with  diflBculty,  and  shook  it  as 
a  sign  of  caution,  looking  at  him  with  wide,  suffering  eyes, 
from  which  the  tears  now  first  flowed,  when  she  saw  that  help 
and  sympathy  had  come  to  her  at  last. 

"God  preserve  us!  och,  an'  he  isn't  dead?"  whispered 
Patrick,  advancing  a  step  nearer,  and  ready  to  burst  into  a 
loud  wail. 

"  He's  sick !  he's  crazy !"  Mrs.  Babb  breathed  hoarsely,  in 
reply :  "help  me  to  git  him  to  bed  !" 

The  Irishman  supported  Bute  by  the  shoulders,  while  Mrs 
Babb  oently  and  cautiously  relieved  herself  from  his  choking 
arm.  "Without  Pat's  help  h  is  difficult  to  say  what  she  would 
have  done.  Tender  as  a  woman,  and  gifted  with  all  the  whimsi, 
cal  cunning  of  his  race,  he  humored  Bute's  delirious  fancies  to 
the  utmost,  soothing  instead  of  i-esisting  or  irritating  him,  and 
with  infinite  patience  and  difficulty  succeeded  in  getting  him 
iTack  into  his  bedroom.     Here  Mrs,  Babb  remade  his  bed,  put 


S80  HANNAH  thuuston: 

tana  on  fresh  sheets  aud  pillows,  ami  the  two  undressed  and  laid 
hitn  in  it.  The  first  thing  she  then  did  was  to  cut  oflf  his  long 
yellow  locks  close  to  the  head,  and  apply  a  wet  cloth ;  beyond 
that,  which  she  had  heard  was  always  used  in  such  cases,  she 
did  not  dare  to  go. 

'Che  next  thing  was,  to  procure  medical  assistance.  Thei« 
were  no  other  persons  about  the  house,  and  both  of  them 
together,  it  seemed  probable,  would  scarcely  be  able  to  man- 
age the  patient,  if  a  violent  paroxysm  should  come  on.  Mrs. 
Babb  insisted  on  remaining  by  him;  but  Patrick,  who  had 
seen  similar  attacks  of  fever,  would  not  consent  to  this.  He 
swore  by  all  the  saints  that  she  would  find  Bute  safely  in  bed 
on  her  return.  She  need  not  go  farther  than  black  Melinda's 
cabin,  he  said ;  it  was  not  over  three-quarters  of  a  mile.  She 
could  send  Melinda  for  the  doctor,  and  for  Misther  Merryfield 
too — that  'ud  be  better ;  and  then  come  directly  back,  herself. 

Mrs.  Babb  gave  way  to  these  representations,  and  hurried 
forth  on  her  errand.  Her  stiff  old  joints  cracked  with  the 
violence  of  her  motion  ;  she  was  agitated  by  remorse  as  well 
as  anxiety.  She  had  been  a  little  hard  on  the  lad  ;  what  if  he 
should  die  without  forgiving  her,  and  should  go  straight  to 
heaven  (as  of  course  he  would)  and  tell  his  own  mother  and 
Jason  Babb,  who  was  so  fond  of  him  ?  In  that  case,  Jason 
would  certamly  be  angry  with  her,  aud  perhaps  would  not 
allow  her  to  sit  beside  him  on  the  steps  of  the  Golden  City, 
wheii  her  time  came.  Fortunately,  she  found  old  Melinda 
at  home,  and  despatched  her  with  the  injunction  to  "go  down 
to  Merryfield's  as  hard  as  you  can  scoot,  and  tell  him  to  ride  for 
the  doctor,  and  then  you  come  directly  back  to  the  house. ** 
Melinda  at  once  strode  away,  with  her  eyes  fixed  before  her, 
muttering  fragments  of  camp-meeting  hymns.   - 

When  Mrs.  Babb  returned,  she  found  Bute  still  in  bed,  pant- 
ing from  evident  exhaustion.  The  wet  cloth  was  on  his  head 
and  the  bed-clothes  were  straight.  Patrick  turned  away  hia 
face  from  the  light,  and  said :  "  Sure,  an'  he's  been  as  quiet  as 
a  lamb"— an  assertion  which  was  disprove!  the  next  day  b 


A    STORY    OF    AMEEICAN   LOFS.  SS** 

the  multitude  of  indigo  blotches,  the  marks  of  terrible  blows, 
which  appeared  on  his  own  face,  breast,  and  arms.  What  hap 
pened  while  they  were  alone,  Patrick  always  avoided  telling, 
except  to  the  priest.  To  his  mind,  there  was  a  sanctity  about 
delirium,  the  secrets  of  which  it  would  be  criminal  to  betraj 

In  two  or  three  hours  more  the  physician  arrived,  accom- 
panied by  Merryfield.  The  former  pronounced  Buto  to  he 
•boring  under  a  very  dangerous  attack  of  congestive  fever,  of 
a  typhoid  character.  He  bled  him  'sufficiently  to  reduce  the 
excitement  of  the  brain,  prescribed  the  usual  medicines,  a  little 
increased  in  quantity,  and  recommended  great  care  and  exact- 
ness in  administering  them.  When  he  descended  the  stairs, 
the  housekeeper  stole  after  him,  and  grasped  his  arm  as  he 
entered  the  hall. 

"  Doctor,"  she  asked,  in  her  stern  manner,  "  I  jist  want  to 
know  the  truth.     Is  he  goia'  to  git  over  it,  or  isn't  he  ?" 

"  The  chances  are  about  even,  Mrs.  Babb,"  the  physician  re 
plied.  "  I  will  not  disguise  from  you  the  fact  that  it's  a  very 
serious  case.  If  his  constitution  were  not  so  fine,  I  should  feel 
almost  like  giving  him  up.  I  will  only  say  this :  if  we  can 
keep  him  for  a  week,  without  growing  much  worse,  we  shall 
get  the  upper  hand  of  the  fever.  It  depends  on  his  nurses, 
even  more  than  on  me." 

"/■//  nuss  him!"  Mrs.  Babb  exclaimed,  defiantly.  "A  week, 
did  you  say  ?  A  week  a'n't  a  life-time,  and  I  can  stand  it.  1 
stood  more'n  that,  when  Jason  was  sick.  Don't  be  concerned 
about  your  orders,  Sir:  I've  took 'em  to  heart,  and  that's 
enough  said." 

The  housekeeper  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  clinching  hei 
fists  and  nodding  lier  head — the  meaning  of  which  was,  that 
liiere  was  to  be  a  fair  stand-up  fight  between  Death  and  her- 
sell',  for  the  possession  of  Arbutus  Wilson,  and  that  Death  was 
liot  going  to  be  the  victor,  no,  not  if  he  took  herself  instead, 
out  of  spite.  Then  and  there  she  commenced  her  plan  of  de- 
fence. Those  precautions  wliich  the  physician  had  recommend 
ed  were  taken  with  a  Draconian  severity- :   what  he  had  forbid 


188  HANK^AH   TnUftSTO-NT 

den  ceased  to  have  a  possibility  of  existence.  Quiet,  of  coufae 
was  included  in  his  orders,  and  never  was  a  household  con 
ducted  with  so  little  noise.  The  sable  Melinda,  having  let  • 
pot-lid  fall  on  the  kitchen-floor,  found  her  arm  instantly  grasp- 
ed in  a  bony  vice,  while  an  awful  voice  whispered  in  her  ear 
(Mrs.  Babb  had  ceased  to  speak  otherwise,  even  when  she 
went  to  the  garden) — "  Don't  you  dare  to  do  that  ag'in  !"  She 
prepared  and  applied  the  blisters  and  poultices  with  her 
own  hands;  administered  the  medicines  punctually  to  the 
second,  whether  by  day  or  by  night ;  and  the  invalid  could  not 
turn  in  his  bed  but  she  seemed  to  know  it,  by  some  sort  of 
clairvoyance,  in  whatever  part  of  the  house  she  might  be  at 
the  time.  At  night,  although  Patrick  and  Mr.  Merryfield  vol- 
unteered to  watch  by  turns,  and  tried  to  induce  her  to  sleep, 
she  never  undressed,  but  lay  down  on  her  bed  in  an  adjoining 
chamber,  and  made  her  appearance  in  the  sick-room,  tall,  dark, 
and  rigid,  every  half-hour.  She  would  listen  with  a  fearful 
interest  to  Bute's  ravings,  whether  profane  or  passionate, 
dreading  to  hear  some  accusation  of  herself,  which,  if  he  died, 
ne  would  bear  straight  to  Jason  Babb.  Her  words,  however, 
had  made  but  the  slightest  surface-wounds  on  Bute's  sturdy 
nature.  No  accusation  or  reproach  directed  towards  her 
passed  his  lips ;  Miss  Dilworth's  name,  it  is  true,  was  some- 
times mentioned,  but  more  in  anger  than  in  love  ;  but  his  mind 
ran  principally  on  farming  matters,  mixed  with  much  incohe- 
rent talk,  to  which  Patrick  only  appeared  to  have  the  clue. 
The  latter,  at  least,  was  generally  able  to  exercise  a  guidance 
ovei  his  hallucinations,  and  to  lead  them  from  the  more  violent 
to  the  gentler  phases. 

Half  the  week  was  gone,  and  no  change  could  be  detected 
ir  the  invalid's  condition.  The  powerful  assault  of  disease 
had  met  as  powerful  a  resisting  nature,  and  the  struggle  con- 
tinued, with  no  marked  signs  of  weariness  on  either  side. 
Mucli  sympathy  was  felt  by  the  neighbors,  when  the  news 
became  known,  and  there  were  kind  offers  of  assistance.  The 
physician,  however,  judged  that  the  attendance   was  already 


A   STOEY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  289 

sufficient,  and  as  the  fevei*  was  contagions  in  many  cases,  he 
recommended  that  there  should  be  as  few  nijrses  as  possible. 
The  sympathy  then  took  the  form  of  recipes  (every  one  of 
which  was  infallible),  dried  herbs,  jellies,  oranges,  and  the  like. 
Mr.  Jones,  the  miller,  even  sent  a  pair  of  trout,  which  he  had 
caught  in  Roarmg  Brook.  The  housekeeper  received  all  these 
articles  with  stern  thanks,  and  then  locked  them  up  in  her 
■cupboard,  saying  to  herself,  "  'Ta'n't  time  for  sich  messes  yet : 
/can  git  all  he  wants,  jist  now." 

Slowly  the  week  drew  to  a  close,  and  Mrs.  Babb  grew  more 
anxious  and  excited.  The  unusual  strain  upon  her  old  frame 
oegan  to  tell ;  she  felt  her  strength  going,  and  yet  the  ago- 
nizing suspense  in  regard  to  Bute's  fate  must  be  quieted  be- 
fore she  could  allow  it  to  give  way  altogether.  Her  back  kept 
Its  straightness  from  long  habit,  but  her  knees  tottered  undei 
her  every  time  she  mounted  the  stairs,  and  the  muscles  around 
Iier  mouth  began  to  twitch  and  relax,  in  spite  of  herself.  She 
no  longer  questioned  the  physician,  but  silently  watched  his 
face  as  he  came  from  Bute's  room,  and  waited  for  him  to 
speak. 

On  the  seventh  day,  what  little  information  he  voluntarily 
gave  afforded  uo  relief  to  her  mind,  and  for  the  first  time  the 
iron  will  which  had  upheld  her  thus  far  began  to  waver.  A 
vyeariness  which,  it  seemed  to  her,  no  amount  of  sleep  could 
ever  heal,  assailed  lier  during  the  night.  Slowly  she  struggled 
on  until  morning,  and  through  the  eighth  day  until  late  in  the 
aiternoon,  when  the  physician  came.  This  time,  as  he  left  the 
sick-room,  she  detected  a  slight  change  in  his  expression. 
Walking  slowly  towards  him,  striving  to  conceal  her  weakness 
and  emolion,  she  said,  brokenly : 

"Can  you  tell  me  now?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  promise."  he  answered,  "  but  there  is  a 
ihance  now  that  tlie  fever  will  exhaust  itself,  before  quite  all 
the  power  of  rallying  afterwards  has  been  spent.  He  is  not 
out  of  danger,  but  tlie  prospects  of  his  recovery  are  better 
than  they  were,  two  to  one.     If  he  gets  well,  your  nursing, 


290  HANNAH    THUKSrON: 

Mrs.  Babb,  will  have  saved  him.  I  wish  all  my  patients  could 
have  you." 

The  housekeeper  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  ^ve 
vent  to  her  feelings  in  a  single  hoarse,  diy  sob.  When  the 
doctor  had  gone,  Melinda  put  the  teapot  on  the  table,  arranged 
the  cups  and  saucers,  and  said :  "  Come,  now.  Miss  Forty^ 
you  take  a  cup.  I  sure  you  needs  um ;  you  jiss'  kiilin'  you'self, 
honey." 

Mrs.  Babb  attempted  to  comply :  she  lifted  the  saucer  to 
her  lips,  and  then  set  it  down  again.  She  felt,  suddenly,  very 
faint  and  sick,  and  the  next  moment  an  icy  chill  seized  her, 
and  shook  her  from  head  to  foot :  her  lips  were  blue,  and  her 
seven  remaining  teeth  rattled  violently  together.  Melinda, 
alarmed,  flew  to  her  assistance  ;  but  she  pushed  her  back  with 
her  long,  thin  arm,  saying,  "  I  knowed  it  must  come  so.  One 
of  us  had  got  to  go.     He'll  git  well,  now." 

"  Oh,  Missus !"  cried  Melinda,  and  threw  her  apron  over  her 
head. 

"  Where's  the  use,  Melindy  ?"  said  the  housekeeper,  sternly. 
''  I  guess  she'll  be  glad  of  it :  she'd  kind  o'  got  used  to  havin' 
me  with  her." 

Even  yet,  she  did  not  wholly  succumb  to  the  attack.  De- 
liberately forcing  herself  to  drink  two  cups  of  hot  tea,  in  order 
to  break  the  violence  of  the  chill,  she  slowly  crept  up  stairs  to 
Bute's  room,  where  Patrick  was  in  attendance.  Him  she  de- 
spatched at  once  to  Ptolemy,  with  a  message  to  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Waldo,  whom  she  requested  to  come  at  as  early  an  hour  as 
possible.  She  sent  no  word  to  the  physician,  but  the  old  Me- 
linda had  shrewdness  enough  to  discover  this  omission  and 
supply  it. 

Wrapped  in  a  blanket,  Mrs.  Babb  took  her  seat  in  the  old- 
feshioncd  rocking-chair  at  Bute's  bedside,  and  looked  long 
and  earnestly  on  his  worn  face,  in  the  last  light  of  day.  What 
had  become  of  the  warm,  red  blood  which  had  once  painted 
his  round  cheeks,  showing  itself  defiantly  through  th^  tah 
of  all  the  suns  of  summer  ?     Blood  and  tan  seemed  to  hav« 


A   STORY    OF   AMERlCAlf  UFB.  201 

•uddeuly  \anished  together,  leaving  a  waxen  paleness  and  a 
Lonken,  pinched  expression,  so  much  like  death,  that  his  rest- 
less movements  and  mutterings  comforted  her,  because  they 
denoted  life.  "  Yes,  there's  life  in  him  still  1"  she  whi8i)ered 
to  herself.  Presently  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  her. 
Tlie  fierceness  of  his  delirium  had  been  broken,  but  his  expres 
sion  was  still  strange  and  troubled. 

"  I  guess  we'll  begin  the  oats  to-day,  Pat,"  he  said,  in  *  weak 
voice. 

"Arbutus!"  she  cried,  "look  at  mel  Don't  you  know 
Mother  Forty  no  more  ?" 

"  Mother  Forty's  gittiu'  breakfast,"  said  he,  staring  at  her. 

"  Oh,  Arbutus,"  she  groaned,  desperately ;  "  do  try  to  know 
me  this  once't !  I'm  mortal  sick :  Pm  a-goin'  to  die.  If  there'* 
any  tiling  on  y'r  mind  ag'in  me,  can't  you  say  you  forgive  me?" 
And  the  poor  old  creature  began  to  cry  in  a  noiseless  way. 

"I  forgive' you.  Miss  Carrie,"  answered  Bute,  catching  ai 
the  word  "  forgive."  "  'Ta'n't  worth  mindin'.  You're  a  littl<» 
fool,  and  I'm  a  big  one,  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Babb  did  not  try  again.  She  leaned  back  in  the  rock- 
ing-chair, folding  the  blanket  more  closely  around  her,  to  keep 
off  the  constantly  recurring  chills,  and  husbanding  her  failin^^ 
strength  to  perform  the  slight  occasional  ofiices  which  the  in- 
valid required.  Thus  she  sat  until  Patrick's  return,  when  the 
Degress  helped  her  to  bed. 

In  the  morning  the  physician  found  her  in  a  pitiable 
state  of  debility,  but  with  a  mind  as  clear  and  determined  as 
ever.  Her  physical  energies  were  completely  broken,  and  the 
prospect  of  supporting  them  artificially  until  the  fever  should 
subside,  seemed  very  slight.  She  understood  the  grave  con- 
cern upon  liis  face.  "  You  needn't  tell  me,  doctor,"  she  said; 
"  I  know  all  about  it.  I'll  take  the  medicines,  to  make  yi/wf 
mind  easy  ;  but  it's  no  use." 

Mr.  Waldo  arriving  about  the  same  time,  she  begged  the 
physician  to  wait  until  she  had  had  an  interview  with  the 
former.     He  liad  been  suniuioued  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 


292  HANNAH   TIIUKSTOX: 

araw  up  her  will,  the  signing  of  which  she  wished  both  geutle- 
men  to  witness.  The  document  was  soon  prepared.  She  be< 
queathed  all  she  possessed  to  Arbutus  Wilson,  her  adopted  son, 
After  deducting  the  expenses  of  her  funeral,  and  a  tombstone 
similar  to  that  which  she  had  erected  to  the  memory  of  Jason 
Babb. 
'  Propped  up  in  bed,  she  carefully  went  over  the  various 
sums,  obliging  Mr.  Waldo  to  repeat  them  after  her  and  read 
them  aloud  as  he  wrote  them,  in  order  that  there  might  be  no 
mistake.  "  There's  the  four  hundred  dollars  Jason  left  me," 
said  she,  '*  out  at  interest  with  David  Van  Horn ;  then  the  mor- 
gidge  for  a  thousand  dollars  on  Wilmot's  store ;  then  the  three 
hundred  she  willed  to  me,  two  hundred  lent  to  Backus,  and 
two  hundred  and  fifty  to  Dan' el  Stevens ; — let  alone  the  int'rest 
what  I've  saved.  You'll  find  there'd  ought  to  be  twenty-seven 
hundred  and  four  dollars  and  six  shillin's,  altogether.  The  notes 
is  all  in  my  tin  box,  and  the  int'rest  tied  up  in  my  weddin' 
stockins  in  the  big  trunk.  I  got  it  turned  into  gold:  the  banks  is 
breakin'  all  the  time.  It's  enough  to  give  Arbutus  a  good  start 
in  the  world — a  heap  better'n  either  me  or  Jason  had.  Put  it 
into  the  will  that  he's  to  be  savin'  andkeerful,  for 'twas  got  by 
hard  work.  I  know  he  won't  spend  it  for  hisself,  but  he's  to 
keep  it  out  drawin'  int'rest,  and  if  he  gits  married,  he  mustn't 
let  his  wife  put  it  onto  her  back.  And  you  may  put  down  my 
blessin',  and  that  I've  tried  to  bring  him  up  in  the  right  way 
and  hope  he  won't  depart  from  it." 

The  will  was  finally  completed.  With  a  strong  effort,  she 
signed  it  with  a  cramped,  but  steady  hand.  The  physician 
and  clergyman  affixed  their  signatures  as  witnesses.  "  Now 
I'm  ready,"  whispered  Mrs.  Babb,  sinking  down  on  the  pil 
lows,  and  almost  instantly  fell  asleep. 

As  the  two  gentlemen  issued  from  the  house,  the  physician 
said ;  "  We  must  get  somebody  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Mr.  Waldo.  "  She  cannot  be  in- 
trusted to  old  Melinda.  Leave  it  to  me:  I  will  see  that  ther« 
is  a  good  nurse  in  the  house  before  night." 


A   STORY    OP    AMERICAN    LIFK.  293 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WHICH    CONTAINS    BOTH    LOVE    AND    DEATH. 

Good  Mr.  Waldo  drove  back  to  Ptolemy  seriously  trou- 
bled by  the  calamity  which  had  come  upon  the  household 
of  Lakeside.  Its  helpless  condition,  now  that  the  housekeeper 
was  struck  down,  rendered  immediate  assistance  necessary ; 
but  whence  was  the  help  to  come  ?  He  could  think  of  no 
woman  at  the  same  time  willing  and  competent  to  render  it — 
except  his  wife — and  on  her  rested  the  entire  care  of  his  own 
house,  as  they  were  unable  to  affoi'd  a  servant.  The  benevo- 
lent clergyman  actually  deliberated  whether  he  should  not  let 
iier  go,  and  ask  the  hos})itality  of  one  of  his  parishioners  during 
hei  absence,  in  case  no  other  nurse  could  be  found. 

As  he  turned  into  the  short  private  lane  leadiug  to  his 
stable,  a  rapid  little  tigure,  in  pink  muslin,  entered  the  front 
yard.  It  was  Miss  Caroline  Dilworth,  who  had  just  returned 
from  a  farm-house  on  the  road  to  Mulligansville,  where  she 
had  been  sewing  for  a  fortnight  past.  She  entered  the  plain 
iittle  sitting  room  at  the  same  moment  with  Mr.  Waldo.  The 
clergyman's  wife  greeted  her  with  astonishing  brevity,  and 
turned  immediately  to  her  husband. 

"  What  was  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked ;  "  is  Bute  so  much 
worse  : 

"  Bute  worse  !  "  ejaculated  Miss  Dilworth,  opening  her  ey&s 
in  amazement. 

"No,"  said  Mi*.  Waldo,  answering  his  wife,  "the  doctor 
thinks  his  chance  is  a  little  better,  though  he  is  still  out  of  his 
head  ;  but  she  has  tlie  fever  now,  and  her  case  seems  worse 
than  his.     I  am  distressed  about  them  :  there  is  nobody  there 


v'  nANKAH   THUESTOSr: 

except  the  old  negro  woman,  and  Mrs.  Babb  needs  a  careful 
ourse  imnic'diately." 

"  Wliat  is  it  ?  Do  tell  me  what  it  is  ?"  cried  Miss  Dilwortb, 
matching  hold  of  tlie  clergyman's  arm  with  both  hands. 

lie  explained  tlie  case  to  her  in  a  few  words.  To  the  aston 
ishment  of  both,  the  little  sempstress  burst  into  a  violent  flood 
of  tears.  For  a  minute  or  two  the  agitation  was  so  great  tha* 
ehe  was  unable  to  speak. 

"  It's  d-dreadful !"  she  sobbed  at  last.  "  Why— why  didn't 
you  send  w-word  to  me  ?  But  I'll  g-go  now :  don't  put  out 
your  horse :  take — take  me  there !" 

"  Carrie  !  do  you  really  mean  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  "Waldo. 

Miss  Caroline  Dilworth  actually  stamped  ber  foot.  "  Do 
you  think  I'd  make  fun  about  it  ?"  she  cried.  "  Yes,  I  mean 
to  go,  if  I  must  go  a-foot.  He — they  must  have  somebody ,  and 
there's  nobody  can  go  so  well  as  I  can." 

"  I  think  she  is  right,  wife,"  said  the  clergyman. 

Mrs.  Waldo  hesitated  a  moment.  "I  know  you  would 
be  kind  and  careful,  Carrie,"  she  said  at  length,  "  and  I  could 
come  every  day,  and  relieve  you  for  a  while.  But  are  yon  sure 
you  are  strong  enough  for  the  task  ?" 

Miss  Dilworth  dried  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief  and 
answered :  "  If  I'm  not,  you'll  soon  find  it  out.  I'm  going 
over  to  Friend  Thurston's  to  get  some  of  my  things  to  take 
along." 

"  I'll  call  for  you  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  with  the  buggy,*' 
said  Mr.  Waldo. 

The  little  sempstress  was  off  without  saying  good-by.  As 
she  went  do^vn  the  plank  walk  towards  the  Widow  Thurston's 
cottage,  she  pushed  her  tangled  curls  behind  her  ears,  and  then 
held  her  hands  clenched  at  her  side,  too  much  in  earnest  to 
give  her  head  a  single  toss  or  allow  her  feet  a  single  mincing 
step.  All  the  latent  firmness  in  her  lithe  figure  was  suddenly 
developed.  It  spoke  in  her  rapid,  elastic  gait,  in  the  com- 
pression of  the  short  red  lips,  and  the  earnest  forward  glance 
^  her  eyes,  under  their  uplifted  lids.     During  the  spring  and 


A   STORr    OF   AMSBICAN   UFB.  2M 

inmmer  she  had  been  f;radua?ly  coming  to  the  conviction  that 
she  had  treated  Bute  Wilson  sh-imefully.  The,  failure  of  the 
little  arts  which  she  had  formerly  employed  with  so  much  suo- 
^88  Lad  hastened  this  conviction.  The  softest  droojtingof  her 
?}es,  th(j  gentlest  drawl  of  her  voice,  ceased  to  move  him  from 
his  cold,  grave  indifference.  She  began  to  feel  that  these 
charms  only  acquired  their  potency  through  the  sentiments  of 
those  upon  whom  they  were  exercised.  Had  she  not  again 
ai"d  again  cast  them  forth,  as  nets,  only  to  haul  them  in  at  lasl 
without  having  entrapped  the  smallest  fish  ? 

Besides,  in  another  way,  her  ambition  had  suffered  a  severe 
eheck.  ITie  mistress  of  the  school  at  Mulligansville  having 
fallen  sick,  Miss  Dilworth  took  her  place  for  a  fortnight.  Her 
6i'st  sense  of  triumph  in  having  attained  what  she  considered 
to  be  her  true  mission,  even  as  the  proxy  of  another,  did  not 
last  long.  For  a  day  or  two,  the  novelty  of  her  appearance 
kept  the  school  quiet ;  but,  one  by  one,  the  rude  country  chil- 
dren became  fimiliar  with  her  curls,  with  her  soft  green  eyes, 
and  her  uDauthoritative  voice.  They  grinned  in  answer  to  her 
smile  and  met  her  fiown  with  unconcealed  derision  ;  they  ate 
green  apples  before  her  very  face ;  pulled  each  other's  hair  or 
tickled  each  other  under  the  arms ;  drew  pictures  on  their 
slates  and  upset  the  inkstands  over  their  copy-books.  The 
bigger  boys  and  girls  threw  saucy  notes  at  each  other  across 
ilie  whole  breadth  of  the  school-room.  They  came  to  her  with 
"  sums"  which  she  found  herself  unable  to  solve ;  they  read 
with  loud,  shrill  voices  and  shocking  pronunciation ;  and  when 
the  hour  for  dismissal  came,  instead  of  retiring  quietly,  they 
sprang  from  their  benches  with  frightful  whooping  and  rushed 
tnmultuously  out  of  the  house.  The  "  beautiful  humanity"  of 
the  occupation,  which  she  had  heard  so  extolled,  burst  like  a 
painted  bubble,  leaving  no  trace ;  the  "  moral  suasion,"  on 
which  she  relied  for  maintahiing  discipline,  failed  her  utterly ; 
the  "reciprocal  lov^^'/'  between  teacher  and  pupil,  which  she 
fancied  she  would  develop  in  the  higliest  degree,  resolved  it- 
Belt'into  hideous  contempt  on  the  one  side  and  repugnance  on 


296  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

the  other.  She  was  fiually  indebted  to  one  of  the  bigg  ist  Piid 
coarsest  ol  the  boys — a  fellow  who  almost  made  her  trei:.bU 
every  time  he  came  near  her — for  sufficient  help  to  prevjnt 
the  school  i'rom  falling  into  chaos  before  the  fortnight  came  to 
an  end.  This  boy,  who  Avas  the  bully  of  the  school,  and  whose 
voice  had  a  cracked  hoarseness  denoting  the  phase  of  develop- 
ment through  which  he  was  passing,  was  impressed  with  * 
vague  respect  for  her  curls  and  her  complexion,  and  chivalrous 
ly  threw  his  influence,  including  his  fists,  on  her  side.  It  was 
not  pleasant,  however,  to  hear  the  older  girls  giggle  and  whis- 
per when  he  came :  "  There's  the  mistress's  beau  !" 

Bute,  also,  increased  in  value  in  proportion  as  he  became 
inaccessible.  She  confessed  to  herself  that  no  masculine  eyes 
had  ever  looked  at  her  with  such  honest  tenderness  as  his :  and 
they  were  handsome  eyes,  whatever  his  nose  might  be.  She 
had  always  liked  to  hear  his  voice,  too,  in  the  old  time:  now 
it  was  no  longer  the  same.  It  was  changed  to  her^  and  she 
had  not  imagined  that  the  change  could  make  her  so  restless 
and  unhappy.  Still,  she  did  not  admit  to  herself  that  she  really 
loved  him  :  their  intercourse  had  had  none  of  that  sentimental 
poetic  coloring — that  atmosphere  of  sighs,  murmurs,  thrills,  and 
silent  raptures — which  she  fancied  should  accompany  Love. 
He  was  even  coai'sely  material  enough  to  sneer  at  the  idea  of 
"  kindred  spirits !"  Yet  he  loved  her,  for  all  that ;  she  felt  it 
in  his  altered  manner,  as  she  had  never  felt  it  before. 

The  unexpected  shock  of  the  news  which  Mr.  Waldo  com- 
municated to  her  was  a  sudden  betrayal  of  herself.  Had  che 
possessed  the  least  power  of  introversion,  she  would  have  been 
amazed  at  it.  But  her  nature  was  not  broad  enough  to  em- 
brace more  than  a  single  sensation.  The  burst  of  tears  and 
Uie  impulse  to  offer  her  services  came  together,  and  all  that 
she  felt  was:  "If  Bute  dies,  I  shall  be  wretched."  She  con- 
tinued to  repeat  this  to  herself,  on  her  way  to  the  Widow 
Thurston's,  adding :  "  I'll  do  my  best  to  save  him  and  his 
stepinotlier,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it,  and  I  don't  care 
what  they  say." 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  297 

**  Why,  what's  the  matter,  child  ?  "  exclaimed  the  widow,  as 
Miss  Dilworth  walked  into  the  sitting-room,  erect,  determined, 
and  with  a  real  expression  on  her  usually  vapid* face. 

The  latter  explained  her  purpose,  not  without  additional 
tears.  "  Nobody  else  would  be  likely  to  go,"  she  said  :  "  they 
would  be  afraid  of  catching  the  fever.  But  I'm  not  afraid : 
I've  seen  the  like  before  :  I  may  be  of  use,  and~  1  ought  to  be 
there  now." 

The  widow  looked  at  her  with  a  gentle  scrutiny  in  her  eyes, 
which  made  Miss  Dilworth  drop  her  lids  for  the  first  time  and 
bring  forward  her  curls  from  behind  her  ears.  The  glance 
changed  to  one  of  tender  sympathy,  and,  checking  a  sigh  which 
would  have  brought  a  memory  with  it,  the  old  woman  said : 

*'  I  think  thee's  right." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  necessary  preparations  were  soon 
made,  and  in  an  hour  from  that  time  Miss  Carrie  Dilworth  was 
at  Lakeside. 

The  negress,  who  knew  her,  received  her  with  a  mixture  of 
rejoicing  and  grief:  "  Bress  de  Lord,  honey  !  "  she  exclaimed  ; 
"  things  is  goin'  bad.  I'se  mighty  glad  you  come.  Somebody's 
got  to  see  to  'um,  all  de  time,  an'  de  cookin'  mus'  be  'tended 
to,  ye  knows." 

Mrs.  Babb,  after  a  long  sleep,  was  again  awake,  but  in  a 
state  of  physical  piosiration  which  prevented  her  from  leaving 
her  bed.  Her  anxiety  lest  Arbutus  should  not  receive  the 
proper  care,  aggravated  her  condition.  She  kept  his  medicines 
on  a  chair  by  her  bedside,  and  demanded  constant  reports  of 
him,  which  neither  Patrick  nor  Meliuda  could  give  with  suf- 
ficient exactness  to  satisfy  her. 

Miss  Dilworth,  somewhat  nervously,  ascended  the  kitchen 
stairs  and  entered  the  housekeeper's  room.  But  the  sight  of 
the  haggard,  bony  face,  the  wild  restlessness  in  the  sunken 
eves,  and  the  thin  gray  hair  streaming  loosely  from  the  queer, 
old-fashioned  night-cap,  restored  her  courage  through  the  in- 
spiraticin  of  ])itv.  She  went  forward  with  a  quick,  light  step, 
and  stooped  down  beside  the  bed. 
13* 


298  nANNAU   THdRSTON': 

"  I  have  come  to  help,  Mrs.  Babb,"  she  said. 

"  Hell),  eh  ?"  answered  the  housekeeper,  in  a  weak,  hnsk^ 
voice  •  "  well — I've  got  to  take  any  help  that  comes.  Hard 
pushed,  it  seems.  Thought  you  di<ln't  keer  about  none  of  ua 
What  are  you  good  for,  anyhow  ?" 

"  I've  helped  nurse  before,  Mrs.  Babb.  I'll  do  my  best,  if 
you'll  let  me  try.     Which  medicine  do  you  take  ?" 

The  housekeeper  lay  silent  for  a  while,  with  her  eyes  on  the 
sempstress's  face.  She  was  so  weak  that  neither  her  first 
feeUng  of  astonishment  nor  her  second  feeling  of  repugnance 
possessed  a  tithe  of  their  usual  force ;  the  sense  of  her  own 
helplessness  overpowered  them  both.  "  That  bottle  with  the 
red  stuff,"  she  said  at  last.  "  A  tea-spoonful  eveiy  two  hours. 
Three  o'clock,  next.  Take  keer !"  she  gasped,  as  Miss  Dil- 
worth  moved  to  the  chair,  "  you'll  knock  every  thing  down 
with  tliat  hair  o'  yourn  !" 

The  medicines  were  at  last  carefully  arranged  on  a  smal 
table,  the  tea-spoonful  administered,  the  pillows  shaken  up  and 
smoothed,  and,  the  invalid  having  declared  herself  comfortable, 
Miss  Dilworth  slipped  out  of  the  room.  When  she  returned, 
ten  minutes  afterwards,  her  hair  was  drawn  over  her  templea 
in  masses  as  smooth  as  its  former  condition  would  allow,  and 
fastened  in  a  knot  behind.  The  change  was  nevertheless  an 
advantageous  one  ;  it  gave  her  an  air  of  sober  wom.tnhood 
which  she  had  never  before  exhibited.  The  old  woman 
noticed  it  at  once,  but  said  nothing.  Her  eyes  continual!} 
wandered  to  the  door,  and  she  was  growing  restless. 

•'  Shall  I  go  and  see  how  he  is  ?"  whispered  Miss  Carrie 

A  strong  expression  of  dislike  passed  over  the  housekeeper's 
face.  For  a  few  minutes  she  did  not  speak;  then,  as  no  one 
came,  she  finally  groaned  :  "1  can't  go  myself." 

Miss  Carrie  opened  the  door  ot  Bute's  room  with  a  beating 
heart.  The  curtains  were  down,  to  keep  out  the  afternoon 
sun,  and  a  dim  yellow  light  filled  the  chamber.  The  air  was 
close,  and  impregnated  Avith  a  pungent  etherous  smell.  In  en 
old  -arm-chair,  near  the  bed,  sat  Patrick,  dozing.     But  that 


A    STOIJY    OF   AMEr.ICAN'  LIFE.  299 

Bhom  head,  thai  pale,  thin  face,  and  lean,  hanging  arm,  did 
they  really  belong  to  Bute?  She  approached  on  tiptoe, 
holding  her  breath,  and  stood  beside  him.  A  rush  of  tender- 
ness, such  as  she  had  never  felt  towards  any  man,  came  over 
her.  She  longed  to  lay  the  wasted  head  on  her  bosom,  and 
bring  back  color  into  the  cheeks  from  the  warmth  of  her  own 
heart.  He  turned  and  mutterod,  with  half-closed  ejes,  as  if 
neither  asleep  nor  awake,  and  even  when  she  gently  took  the 
hand  that  lay  on  the  coverlet,  the  listless  fingers  did  not  ac- 
knowledge her  touch.  Once  he  looked  full  in  her  face,  but 
vacantly,  as  if  not  even  seeing  her. 

A  horrible  fear  came  over  her.  "  Is  he  worse  ?"  she  whis- 
pered to  the  Irishman. 

"No,  he's  no  wurrse.  Miss — maybe  a  bit  better  than  he 
wur." 

"  When  must  he  have  his  medicine  ?" 

"  I've  jist  guv'  it  to  him.  He'll  be  quieter  now.  Could  ye 
stay  here  and  laive  me  go  to  the  barrn  for  an  hour,  jist  ?" 

Miss  Carrie  reported  to  the  housekeeper,  and  then  reUeved 
Patrick.  She  noiselessly  moved  the  arm-chair  nearer  the  bed, 
seated  herself,  and  took  Bute's  feverish  hand  in  her  own. 
From  time  to  time  she  moistened  his  parched  lips  and  cooled 
his  throbbing  temples.  His  restless  movements  ceased  and  he 
lay  still,  though  in  a  state  of  torpor,  apparently,  rather  than 
sleep.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  him  thus,  stripped  of  his  lusty 
strength,  his  red  blood  faded,  the  strong  fibres  of  his  frame 
weak  aud  lax,  and  the  light  of  human  intelligence  gone  from 
nis  eye.  His  helplessness  and  unconsciousness  now,  brought 
into  strong  relief  the  sturdy,  homely  qualities  of  his  mind  and 
aeart:  the  solemn  gulf  between  the  two  conditions  disclosed 
his  real  value.  Miss  Dilworth  felt  this  without  thinking  it, 
18  she  sat  beside  him,  yearning,  with  all  the  power  of  her 
liruited  nature,  for  one  look  of  recognition,  though  it  expressed 
no  kindness  for  her ;  one  rational  word,  though  it  might  not 
belong  to  the  dialect  of  love. 

No   such   look,  no   such   word,  came.     The   hour   slowlj 


800  llANNAH  thuestok: 

dragged  out  its  length  ;  Patrick  came  back  and  she  returned 
to  the  housekeeper's  room.  The  physician  paid  a  second  ■vlsil  in 
the  evening,  expressed  his  satisfaction  with  her  nursing,  thui 
far,  and  intrusted  her  with  the  entire  care  of  administering 
the  medicines.  He  advised  her,  however,  not  to  be  wasteftd 
of  her  strength  at  the  outset,  as  the  patients  would  not  soon 
be  able  to  dispense  with  careful  watching.  It  was  arranged 
that  the  old  negress  should  occasionally  relieve  her  at  night. 
In  regard  to  the  invalids,  he  confessed  that  he  had  some  hope 
of  Bute's  recovery;  in  a  day  or  two  the  crisis  of  the  fever 
would  be  over ;  but  Mrs.  Babb,  though  her  attack  was  much 
less  violent,  inspired  him  with  solicitude.  The  apathetic  con- 
dition of  her  system  continued,  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  and 
the  strong  will  which  might  have  upheld  her,  seemed  to  ha 
suddenly  broken. 

Miss  Dilworth  fulfilled  her  duties  with  an  astonishing 
patience  and  gentleness.  .  Even  the  old  housekeeper,  no  longer 
seeing  the  curls  and  drooping  eyelids,  or  hearing  the  childish 
affectation  of  the  voice,  appeared  to  regard  her  as  a  different 
creature,  and  finally  trusted  the  medicines  implicitly  to  her 
care.  On  the  day  after  her  arrival,  Bute,  whose  wan  face  and 
vacant  eyes  haunted  her  with  a  strange  attraction,  fell  into 
a  profound  sleep.  All  that  night  he  lay,  apparently  lifeless, 
but  for  the  faint,  noiseless  breath  that  came  from  his  parted 
lips.  He  could  not  be  aroused  to  take  his  medicines.  When 
this  was  reported  to  Mrs.  Babb,  she  said,  as  sternly  as  her 
weakness  would  permit :  "  Let  him  alone  I  It's  the  turnin' 
p'int ;  he'll  either  die  or  git  well,  now." 

This  remark  only  increased  Miss  Dilworth's  anxiety.  Fifty 
(dmes  during  the  night  she  stole  into  his  room,  only  to  find 
him  motionless,  senseless  as  before.  Patrick  took  advantage 
of  lie  quiet  to  sleep,  and  snoi-ed  loud  and  hard  in  his  arm- 
chair.  Once,  moved  by  an  impulse  which  she  could  not 
resist,  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  sick  man's  forehead, 
riie  touch  of  her  lips  was  light  as  a  breath,  but  she  rose, 
trembling  and  l>lusliing  at  herself,  and  slipped  out  of  the  room 


A   STOR\    OF   AMERICAN  LIPK.  301 

"  Quit?t — nothing  but  quiet  as  long  as  he  sleeps !"  said  the 
physician,  next  morning.  Patrick  was  excluded  from  the 
room,  because,  although  he  pulled  off  his  boots,  there  were 
two  or  three  planks  in  the  floor  which  creaked  under  hii 
weight.  Miss  Dilworth  silently  laid  a  row  of  bed-room  rugs 
from  the  door  to  the  bedside,  and  went  and  came  as  if  on 
down,  over  the  enormous  tufted  roses.  No  sound  entered  the 
room  but  that  of  the  summer  wind  in  the  boughs  of  the 
nearest  elm.  Hour  after  hour  of  the  clouded  August  day 
went  by,  and  still  no  change  in  the  sleeper,  oaless  an 
increased  softness  in  his  listless  hand,  as  she  cautiously 
touched  it. 

Towards  sunset,  after  a  restless  day,  Mrs.  Babb  tell  asleep, 
and  Miss  Dilworth  went  into  Bute's  room  and  seated  herself 
in  the  chair.  The  prolonged  slumber  frightened  her.  "Oh," 
she  said  to  herself,  "what  would  I  do  if  he  was  to  die.  I've 
treated  him  badly,  and  he  would  never  know  that  Fm  sorry 
for  it — never  know  that — that  I  love  him  !  Yes,  I  know  it 
now  when  it's  too  late.  If  he  were  well,  he's  done  loving  me 
as  he  used  to — but  he  won't  get  well :  he'll  die  and  leave  me 
wretched !" 

As  these  words  passed  through  her  mind,  while  she  leaned 
forward,  with  her  face  close  to  that  of  the  invalid,  she  sud- 
denly noticed  a  change  in  his  breathing.  Its  faint,  regular 
character  was  interrupted :  it  ceased  a  moment,  and  then  his 
breast  heaved  with  a  deeper  inspiration.  "  Oh,  he's  dying  !" 
she  whispered  to  herself  in  despair.  Stooping  down,  she 
kissed  his  forehead  passionately,  while  her  tears  dropped  fast 
upon  it.  His  arm  moved ;  she  rose,  and  met  the  glance  of  hig 
ipen  eyes — clear,  tender,  happy,  wondering,  but  not  with  th« 
jiank  wonder  of  delirium.  It  was  Bute's  self  that  looked  at  her 
—it  was  Bute's  first,  faithful  love  that  first  came  to  the  surface 
from  the  very  depth  of  his  heart,  before  an/  later  memory 
could  thrust  itself  between.  He  had  felt  the  kiss  on  his  fore- 
head :  his  eyes  drew  uer,  she  knew  UDt  how,  to  his  lips.  His 
right  arm  lifted  itself  to  her  neck  and  held  the  kiss  a  moment 


802  iiANNzMi  thukston: 

fast  •  tlien  it  slid  back  again,  and  she  sank  into  the  chair, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  weeping. 

After  a  while  Bute's  voice  came  to  her — weak  and  gentle, 
but  with  its  natural  tone.  "Carrie,"  said  he,  "what  is  it? 
VVJ.at's  happened?" 

'  Oh,  Bute,"  she  answered,  "  you've  been  very  sick :  you'v« 
betn  out  of  your  head.  And  Mrs.  Babb's  sick  too,  and  I've 
come  to  take  care  of  y<'U  both.  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
die,  Bute,  and  now  you're  going  to  get  well,  and  I'm  so  glad — 
so  happy !" 

"  Why  are  you  glad,  Carrie  ?  Why  did  you  come  ?"  he 
asked,  with  an  echo  of  the  old  reproach  in  his  voica  The 
memory  of  his  disappointment  had  already  returned. 

Nothing  was  further  from  Miss  Dilworth's  mind  than  a  re- 
sort to  her  former  arts.  She  was  too  profoundly  and  solemnly 
moved :  she  would  tell  the  truth,  as  if  it  were  her  own  dying 
hour  She  took  her  hands  from  her  face,  lifted  her  head,  and 
looked  at  him.  "  Because  I  have  treated  you  badly,  Bute," 
she  said :  "  because  I  trifled  with  you  wickedly.  I  wanted 
to  make  some  atonement,  and  to  hear  you  say  you  forgiv« 
me." 

She  paused.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  hers,  but  he  did  not 
answer. 

"  Can  you  forgive  me,  Bute  ?"  she  faltered.  "  Try  to  do  it, 
because  I  love  you,  .iihough  I  don't  expect  you  to  love  me  any 
more." 

"  Carrie!"  he  cried.  A  new  tint  came  to  his  face,  a  new 
light  to  his  eye.  His  hand  wandered  towards  her  on  the 
joverlet. 

"  Carrie,"  he  repeated,  feebly  grasping  her  hand  with  liit 
lingers  and  drawing  her  tow  ards  him,  "  once't  more,  now  /"  Id 
th,  kiss  that  followed  there- was  forgiveness,  answering  love, 
and  a  mutual  compact  for  the  future. 

"You've  brought  nip  back  agin  to  life,"  he  murmured, 
closing  his  eyes,  whilt  two  bright  tears  crept  out  from  undei 
ihe  lids.     She  sat  beside  him,  l)oUUn<^  his  hand.     He  seemed 


A   STORY    OF   ^.MERICAIT   LIFE.  308 

fcoo  weak  to  say  more,  and  thus  ten  minutes  silently  "assed 
away. 

"  Tell  me  how  it  happened,"  said  Bute,  finally.  "  Where's 
Mother  Forty?" 

"  I  must  go  to  her  at  once !"  cried  Miss  Dilworth,  starting 
up.  "  She's  worrying  herself  to  death  on  your  account.  And 
the  doctor  said  if  you  got  awake  you  were  to  keep  quiet,  and 
Dot  talk.  I  must  go,  Bute :  do  lie  still  and  try  to  sleep  till 
I  come  back.     Oh,  we  oughtn't  to  have  said  any  thing!" 

"  What  we've  said  won't  do  me  no  harm,"  he  murmured, 
with  a  patient,  happy  sigh.  "  Go,  then,  Carrie :  Til  keep 
quiet." 

Miss  Dilworth  went  into  the  housekeeper's  room  so  much 
more  swiftly  than  usual  that  the  latter  was  awakened  by  the 
rustling  of  her  dress.  She  started  and  turned  her  head  with 
a  look  of  terror  in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Babb !"  cried  the  sempstress :  "  Bute's  awake 
it  last.  And  his  mind's  come  back  to  him !  And  he  says  he'll 
get  well !" 

The  old  woman  trembled  visibly.  Her  bony  hands  were 
clasped  under  the  bed-clothes  and  her  lips  moved,  but  no 
audible  words  came  from  them.  Then,  fixing  her  eyes  on  the 
face  of  ihe  kneeling  girl,  she  asked :  "  What  have  you  been 
a-sayin'  to  him?" 

Miss  Dilworth  involuntarily  drooped  her  lids  and  a  deep 
color  came  into  her  face.  "  I  asked  him,"  she  answered,  "  to 
forgive  me  for  my  bad  behavior  towards  him." 

''  Nothin'  else  ?" 

'•'  Yes,  Mrs.  Babl,  I  said  he  could  do  it  now,  because  I  loTti 
him." 

"  You  do,  do  ye  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  he  has  forgiven  me." 

"  Hnh !" 

With  this,  her  customary  snort,  when  she  was  not  prepared 
to  express  a  deei'led  opinion,  the  housekeeper  closed  lier  eyes 
and  scenic  I  t"  meditate.     Presently,  however,  she  turned  her 


304  HANNAH  thukston: 

head,  and  said,  rather  sternly,  though  without  any  signs  of 
bitterness : 

"  Go  'way  now,  gal !     I  want  to  be  alone  a  spelL'* 

Miss  Dil worth  obeyed.  When  she  returned,  at  the  time 
appointed  for  administering  the  medicine,  Mrs.  Babb  had  re« 
umed  her  state  of  passive  patience.  She  made  no  furtJier 
nquiries  about  the  conversation  which  had  taken  place,  nor 
about  any  which  took  place  afterwards.  A  change  had  come 
over  her  whole  nature.  She  lay  for  hours,  with  her  eyes  open, 
without  speaking,  evidently  without  suffering,  yet  keenly 
alive  to  every  thing  that  took  place.  She  took  her  medicines 
mechanically,  with  an  air  of  listless  obedience  to  the  orders  of 
the  physician,  and  without  any  apparent  result.  Stimulants 
and  sedatives  alike  failed  to  produce  their  customary  effect. 
From  day  to  day  she  grew  weaker,  and  the  physician  finally 
declared  that,  unless  she  could  be  roused  and  stirred  in  some 
way,  to  arrest  the  increasing  prostration,  he  could  do  nothing 
for  her.  As  the  knowledge  of  the  favorable  change  in  Bute's 
case  had  left  her  as  before,  there  was  little  hope  that  any 
further  source  of  excitement  remained. 

As  for  Bute,  he  rallied  with  a  rapidity  which  amazed  the 
physician,  who  ascribed  to  an  unusual  vitality  of  his  own  the 
life  which  the  invalid  had  really  drawn  from  another.  The 
only  difficulty  now  was,  to  retard  his  impatient  convalescence, 
and  Miss  Dihvorth  was  obliged  to  anticipate  her  conjugal  au- 
thority and  enjoin  silence  when  he  had  still  a  thousand  happy 
questions  left  unasked  and  unanswered.  When  that  authority 
failed,  she  was  forced  to  absent  herself  from  the  room,  on  the 
plea  of  watching  Mrs.  Babb.  His  impatience,  in  such  case, 
was  almost  as  detrimental  as  his  loquacity,  and  the  Uttle 
sempstress  was  never  at  ease  except  when  he  'slept. 

After  passing  a  certain  stage  in  the  fever,  the  housekeeper 
Degan  to  sink  rapidly.  Her  mind,  nevertheless,  made  feeble 
efforts  to  retain  its  ascendency — efforts  which  reacted  on  her 
body  and  completed  the  ruin  of  its  foculties.  One  day  she  a* 
ioniBhed  Miss  Dihvorth  by  rising  in  her  bed  witli  a  violent  effort 


A   STORY   OF  AMERICAN  LIFE.  80d 

"I  must  go  and  see  him!"  she  said:  "help  me  into  hia 
room  !'■ 

"Oh,  you  cannot!"  cried  Miss  Dilworth,  supporting  her 
with  one  arm  around  her  waist.  "Lie  down:  you  are  not 
strong  enough.  He  will  be  able  to  come  to  you  in  a  day  or 
two," 

"  No,  no  !  to-day  !"  gasped  the  housekeeper.  "  I  a'n't  cer- 
tain o'  knt)win'  him  to-morrow,  or  o'  bein'  able  lo  say  to 
him  what  I've  got  to  say."  Thereupon  her  temporary 
strength  gave  way,  and  she  sank  down  on  the  bed  in  a  faint 
Ing  state. 

After  she  had  somewhat  revived.  Miss  DUworth  took  coun- 
Bcl  with  herself,  and  soon  came  to  a  decision.  She  went  down 
stairs  and  summoned  Patrick,  who  carefully  wrapped  up  Bute 
and  placed  him  in  the  arm-chair.  She  herself  then  assisted  in 
carrying  him  into  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  placing  him  by 
the  bedside.  A  look  of  unspeakable  fondness  came  over  Mra. 
Babb's  haggard  face ;  the  tears  silently  flowed  from  her  eyes 
and  roUed  down  the  wrinkles  in  her  hollow  cheeks. 

"  Cheer  up.  Mother  Forty,"  said  Bute,  who  was  the  firj'c  to 
speak.     "  I'm  gittin'  on  famous'  and  '11  soon  be  round  agf»m.** 

"It's  as  it  should  be,  Arbutus,"  she  whispered,  hoarsely, 
catching  her  breath  between  the  words;  "the  old  'un  11  go 
and  the  young  'un  '11  stay.     'T  had  to  be  one  of  us." 

"  Don't  say  that ;  we'll  take  care  of  you — Carrie  Attd  me. 
Won't  we,  Carrie  ?" 

"  Yes,  Bute,"  said  Carrie,  with  her  handkerchief  to  hei 
eyes. 

Mrs.  Babb  looked  from  one  to  another,  but  without  any 
sign  of  reproof.  She  feebly  shook  her  head.  "  What  mu»t  he 
must,"  said  she ;  "  my  time's  come.  P'raps  I  sha'n't  see  you 
no  more,  Arbutus.  Maybe  I  ha'n't  done  my  duty  by  yoa 
always ;  maybe  I've  seemed  hard,  once't  and  a  while,  but  1 
meant  it  for  your  good,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  have  any  har<3 
thoughts  ag'in  me  when  I'm  gone." 

"  Mother  Forty  j"  cried  Bute,  his  eyes  filling  and  overflow 


306  HANNAH  TUUESTON  : 

ing,  "God  knows  I  ha' n't  nothin'  ag'in  you  I  Tou^e  beca 
as  good  to  me  as  you  knowed  how  ;  it's  me  that's  been  rough, 
and  ibrgitful  o'  how  you  took  care  o'  me  when  I  was  a  littl« 
boy.     Don't  talk  that  a-way  now,  don't !" 

"  Do  you  really  mean  it,  Arbutus  ?  Do  you  forgive  me  ray 
trespasses,  as  I  forgive  them  that  trespass  agi'n  me  ?  Can  I  go 
to  Jason  and  say  Fve  done  my  duty  by  you?" 

Bute  could  not  answer :  he  was  crying  like  a  child.  He 
slid  forward  in  the  chair.  Miss  Dllworth  put  her  arm  around 
his  waist  to  steady  him,  and  they  sank  down  together  on  their 
knees  beside  the  bed.  Bute's  head  fell  forward  on  the  coverlet. 
The  housekeeper  placed  both  her  hands  upon  it. 

"  Take  my  blessin',  child !"  she  said,  in  a  feebler  voice. 
"  You've  been  a  good  boy.  Arbutus.  I'll  tell  Aer,  and  I'll  tell 
your  mother.  Maybe  I'll  have  a  seat  betwixt  her  and  Jason. 
All  I  have'll  be  yourn.  But  you  mustn't  stay  here  :  say  good- 
by  to  me  and  go." 

"  Will  you  bless  me,  with  him  ?"  faltered  Miss  Carrie. 

The  left  hand  slowly  moved  to  her  head,  and  rested  there. 
"  Be  a  good  wife  to  him  when  the  time  comes,  and  I'll  bless 
you  always.  There  a'n't  many  like  him,  and  I  hope  yon 
know  it." 

"I  do  know  it,"  she  sobbed ;  "  there's  nobody  like  him." 

"  I  want  you  to  leave  the  money  w^here  it  is,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  "  and  only  draw  the  interest.  You'll  have  an 
easier  time  of  it  in  your  old  days  than  what  I've  had ;  but  I 
don't  begrudge  it  to  you.  It's  time  you  were  goin' — say 
good-by,  child!" 

The  sempstress,  small  as  she  was,  lifted  Bute  until  his  foster- 
mother  could  catch  and  hold  his  head  to  her  bosom.  Then, 
for  tTiC  first  time  in  his  remembrance,  she  kissed  him,  onoe, 
twice,  not  with  any  violent  outburst  of  feeling,  but  with  a 
tender  gravity  as  if  it  were  a  necessary  duty,  the  omission  of 
which  would  not  be  agreeable  to  Jason  Babb.  Then  she 
turned  over  on  the  pillow,  saying  "  Amen  !"  and  was  silent. 
Patrick  was  summoned  and  Bute  was  speedily  replaced  in  his 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  307 

own  bed,  where  Miss  Dilworth  left  him  to  resume  her  place 
by  the  housekeeper's  side. 

But  that  same  night,  about  midnight,  Mrs.  Babb  died 
She  scarcely  spoke  again  after  her  interview  with  Bute,  except 
to  ask,  two  hours  later,  whether  he  seemed  to  be  any  the 
worse  on  account  of  it.  On  being  told  that  he  was  sleeping 
quietly,  she  nodded  her  head,  straightened  her  gaunt  form  as 
well  as  she  was  able,  and  clasped  her  fingers  together  over  her 
breast.  Thus  she  lay,  as  if  already  dead,  her  strong  eyebrows, 
her  hooked  nose,  and  her  shai-p  chin  marking  themselves  with 
ghastly  distinctness  as  the  cheeks  grew  more  hollow  and  the 
closed  eyes  sank  deeper  in  their  sockets.  Towards  midnight  a 
change  in  her  breathing  alarmed  Miss  Dilworth.  She  hastily 
called  the  old  negress,  who  was  sleeping  on  the  kitchep  <iettee. 

"  Honey,"  said  the  latter,  in  an  awe-struck  whisper,  »8  she 
stood  by  the  bedside,  "  she's  a-goin'  fast.  She  soon  see  de 
glory.  Don't  you  wish  fur  her  to  stay,  'Case  dat'U  interfere 
wid  her  goin'." 

Her  breath  grew  fainter,  and  came  at  longer  intervals,  bxit 
the  moment  when  it  ceased  passed  unnoticed  by  either  of  tb  e 
watchers.  Melinda  first  recognized  the  presence  of  Death. 
"  You  go  an'  lay  down,"  she  said  to  Miss  Carrie.  "  You  can't 
do  no  good  now.     I'll  stay  wid  her  till  mornin'." 

The  sempstress  obeyed,  for  she  was,  in  truth,  wretchedly 
weary.  For  tbe  remainder  of  the  night  Melinda  sat  on  a  loiw 
chair  beside  the  corpse,  swinging  her  body  backwards  aud 
forwards  as  she  crooned,  iu  a  low  voice : 

"  De  streets  is  paved  wid  gold, 
Obw  on  de  udder  shore." 


308  HANNAH   THURSTOW: 


CHAPTER    XXrV. 

▼ARIOVS  GHA170ES,   BUT  LIXTLB  PBOGBBSS  IK  THB  BTOEr. 

As  soon  as  the  news  of  Mrs.  Babb's  death  became  knowH, 
the  neighbors  hastened  to  Lakeside  to  offer  their  help.  The 
necessary  arrangements  for  the  funeral  were  quietly  and 
speedily  made,  and,  on  the  second  day  afterwards,  the  body  of 
the  housekeeper  was  laid  beside  that  of  Jason  Babb,  in  the 
Presbyterian  churchyard  at  Ptolemy,  where  he  had  been 
slumbering  for  the  last  twenty-three  years.  The  attendance 
was  very  large,  for  all  the  farmers'  wives  in  the  valley  had 
known  Mrs.  Babb,  and  still  held  her  receipts  for  cakes,  pre- 
serves, and  pickles  in  high  esteem.  The  Reverends  Styles 
and  Waldo  made  appropriate  remarks  and  prayers  at  the 
grave,  so  that  no  token  of  respect  was  wanting.  All  the 
neighbors  said,  as  they  drove  homewards,  "  The  funeral  was  a 
credit  to  her."  Her  spirit  must  have  smiled  in  stern  satisfac- 
tion, even  from  its  place  by  Jason's  side,  and  at  the  feet  oJ 
Mrs.  Dennison,  as  it  looked  down  and  saw  that  her  last  au- 
conscious  appearance  among  mortals  was  a  success. 

Miss  Dihvorth  took  counsel  of  her  friends,  Hannah  Thurston 
and  Mrs.  Waldo,  on  the  day  of  the  funeral.  She  confessed  io 
them,  -frith  returning  misgivings,  what  had  taken  place  be- 
tween. Bute  Wilson  and  herself,  and  was  a  little  surprised  at 
the  hearty  gratification  which  they  both  expressed. 

"How  glad  I  ami"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo;  "it  is  the  very 
thing !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hannah  Thurston,  in  her  grave,  deliberate  maa 
ner,  '*  I  think  you  have  made  a  good  choice,  Carrie." 


A   STOBT    OF   AMERICAN    LIFE.  b09 

If  any.^park  of  Miss  Caroline  Dilworth's  old  ambition  still 
burned  among  the  ashes  of  her  dreams,  it  was^  extinguished  at 
that  moment.  The  prophets  of  reform  were  thenceforth  dead 
to  her.  She  even  took  a  consolation  in  thinking  that  if  her 
wish  had  been  fulfilled,  her  future  position  might  have  had  ita 
embari-assments.  She  might  have  been  expected  to  sympa- 
ihize  with  ideas  which  she  did  not  comprehend — to  make  use 
of  new  shibboleths  before  she  had  learned  to  pronounce  them 
— U,  counterfeit  an  intelligent  appreciation  when  most  con- 
BCKms  of  her  own  incompetency.  Now,  she  would  be  at  ease. 
Bute  would  never  discover  any  deficiency  in  her.  She  spoke 
better  English  and  used  finer  words  than  he  did,  and  if  she 
made  a  mistake  now  and  then,  he  wouldn't  even  notice  it. 
With  the  disappearance  of  her  curls  her  whole  manner  had 
become  more  simple  and  natural.  Her  little  affectations  broke 
out  now  and  then,  it  is  true,  but  they  had  already  ceased  to  be 
used  as  baits  to  secure  a  sentimental  interest.  There  was  even 
hope  that  her  attachment  to  Bute  would  be  the  means  of  de- 
veloping her  somewhat  slender  stock  of  common-sense. 

"  Bute  says  we  must  be  married  as  soon  as  he  gets  well," 
she  said  :  "  he  won't  wait  any  longer.  Is  there  any  harm  in 
my  staying  here  and  taking  care  of  him  until  he's  entirely  out 
of  danger?" 

Mrs.  Waldo  reflected  a  moment.  "Certainly  none  until 
Mr.  Woodbury  returns,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Waldo  has  answered 
his  letter  to  Bute,  which  came  this  morning.  K  he  leaves 
Saratoga  at  once,  he  will  be  here  in  three  or  four  days.  The 
doctor  says  you  are  an  admirable  nurse,  and  that  is  reason 
enough  why  you  should  not  leave  at  present." 

"The  other  reason  ouffht  to  be  enough,"  said  Hannah 
Thurston.  "She  owes  a  wife's  duty  towards  him  now,  when 
he  needs  help  which  she  can  give.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Woodbury 
will  see  it  in  the  same  light.     He  is  noble  and  honorable." 

"  Why,  Hannah !"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  I  thought  you  and 
he  were  as  far  apart  as  the  opposite  poles !" 

"  Perhaps  we  are,  in  our  views  of  certain  subjects,"  was  t)  • 


510  HANNAH   THTTRSTOW  : 

quiet  reply.     "  I  can,  nevertheless,  properly  estimate  his  char 
acter  as  a  man." 

Mrs.  Waldo  suppressed  a  sigh.  "  If  you  could  only  esti 
mate  your  own  true  character  as  a  woman !"  she  thought. 

Miss  Dilworth's  duties  were  now  materially  lightened.  Tlit 
danger  of  further  contagion  had  passed,  and  some  one  of  the 
neiglibors  came  every  day  to  assist  her.  Bute  only  required 
stimulating  medicines,  and  the  usual  care  to  prevent  a  relapse, 
of  vi'hich  there  seemed  to  be  no  danger.  He  began  to  recover 
his  healthful  sleep  at  night,  and  his  nurse  was  thus  enabled  to 
keep  up  her  strength  by  regular  periods  of  rest.  Once  or 
twice  a  day  she  allowed  him  to  talk,  so  long  as  there  was  no 
appearance  of  excitement  or  fatigue.  These  half  hours  were 
the  happiest  Bute  had  ever  known.  To  the  delicious  languor 
and  peace  of  convalescence,  was  added  the  active,  ever-renewed 
bliss  of  his  restored  love,  and  the  promises  which  it  whispered. 
He  delighted  to  call  Miss  Carrie,  in  anticipation,  "Little 
wife !"  pausing,  each  time  he  did  so,  to  look  for  the  blush 
which  was  sure  to  come,  and  the  smile  on  the  short  red  lips, 
which  was  the  sweetest  that  ever  visited  a  woman's  face.  Of 
course  it  was. 

One  day,  nevertheless,  as  he  lay  looking  at  her,  and  think- 
ing how  much  more  steady  and  sensible  she  seemed  since  her 
curls  were  gathered  up — how  much  more  beautiful  the  ripples 
of  light  brown  hair  upon  her  temples — a  cloud  came  over  hia 
face.  "Carrie,"  he  said,  "there's  one  thought  worries  me,  and 
I  want  you  to  put  it  straight,  if  you  can.  S'pose  I  hadn't  got 
sick, — s'pose  I  hadn't  lost  my  senses,  would  you  ever  ha'  come 
to  your'n  ?" 

She  was  visibly  embarrassed,  but  presently  a  flitting  roguish 
expression  passed  over  her  face,  and  she  answered  :  '■  Would 
you  have  given  me  a  chance  to  do  it,  Bute?" 

"Likely  not,"  said  he.  "You  spoke  plain  enough  last  win- 
ter,  and  'twasn't  for  me  to  say  the  first  word,  after  that. 
When  a  man's  burnt  his  fingers  once't,  he  keeps  away  from 
the  fire.     But  I  want  to  know  why  you  come  to  take  keer  of 


JL  STOKY    OK   AMKKICAN   LIFB.  Sll 

Ihe  au(i  Mother  Forty.  Was  it  only  because  you  were  sorry, 
and  wanted  to  pay  me  for  my  disapp'intmept  in  that  way? 
Can  you  lay  your  hand  on  your  heart  and  say  there  was  any 
thing  more  ?" 

Miss  Carrie  immediately  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart.  "  Yes, 
Bute,"  she  said,  "  there  was  something  more.  I  was  begin- 
fl»ng  to  find  it  out,  before,  but  when  I  heard  you  were  so  bad, 
it  came  all  at  once." 

"Look  here,  Carrie,"  said  Bute,  still  very  earnestly,  although 
the  cloud  was  beginning  to  pass  away,  "some  men  have  hearts 
like  shuttlecocks,  banged  back  and  foilh  from  one  gal  to  an- 
other, and  none  the  wuss  of  it.  But  I  a'n't  one  of  'em.  When- 
ever I  talk  serious,  I  'xpect  to  be  answered  serious.  I  believe 
what  you  say  to  me.  I  believed  it  a'ready,  but  I  wanted  to  be 
double  sure.  You  and  me  have  got  to  live  together  as  man 
and  wile.  'Twon't  be  all  skylarkin' :  we've  got  to  work,  and 
help  one  another,  and  take  keer  o'  others  besides,  if  things  goea 
right.  What'll  pass  in  a  gal,  won't  pass  in  a  married  woman : 
you  must  get  shut  o'  your  coquettin'  ways.  I  see  you  ve  took 
the  trap  out  o'  your  hair,  and  now  you  must  take  it  out  o'  youi 
eyes.  'T a'n't  that  it'll  mean  any  thing  any  more — if  I  thought 
it  did,  I'd  feel  like  killin'  you — but  it  won't  look  right." 

"You  mustn't  mind  my  foolishness,  Bute,"  she  answered, 
pciiiteJitly,  "and  you  mustn't  think  of  Seth  Wattles!' 

"Srtli  be — fo)i-s<irti\l r  Bute  exclaimed.    "When  1  see  you 

(jii-kin'  up  dead  frogs,  I'll  believe  you  like  to  shake  ham.s  with 

Setli !     Fve  uot  iigri'ealiU'r  thoughts  than  to  have  him  in  my 

iK'iid.     Well — 1  don't  bear  no  grudge  ag'in  him  now;  but  1 

III  t  like  liiia.'' 

"  1  don't  like  him  eittier.  Fancy  sucli  a  fellow  as  he  tliinl 
Uf  himself  good  enough  for  H:miK»h  Thurston !  There' ><  n 
mwi  good  enough  for  her!" 

"Like  enoiitrh  she  thinks   hcr-^'lf  ino  good   for  anv  m:iM. 
Bute  r(-in:irk<-'l.      •    I'm    tl;!"      "   '     '    •    w  «>iii   n.  (":irri«-,  that  * 
mail  u:nii>   i  '"   il»al  gits  Mi 

Max." 


912  HANNAH   THUKSTON: 

"Oh,  I  must  go  and  see  to  Mr.  Woodbury's  room  I"  cried 
Miss  Dilworth,  starting  up.  "  Perhaps  he'll  come  this  very 
day.     Then  I  suppose  I  must  go  away,  Bute." 

"I  hope  not.,  Carrie.  I  wouldn't  mind  bein'  a  bit  sicker  for 
a  day  or  two,  o'  purpose  to  keep  you  here.  What  1  are  yon 
goin'  away  in  that  fashion,  Little  Wife  ?" 

Miss  Dilworth  darted  back  to  the  bedside,  stooped  down, 
like  a  humming-bird  presenting  its  bill  to  a  rather  large  flow- 
er, and  was  about  to  shoot  off  again,  when  Bute  caught  her  by 
the  neck  and  substituted  a  broad,  firm  kiss,  full  of  consistenoy 
and  flavor,  for  the  little  sip  she  had  given  him. 

'*  That's  comfortin',"  said  he.  "  I  thank  the  Lord  my  mouth 
a'n't  as  little  as  your'u." 

Before  night,  Mr.  Woodbury  aiTived,  having  taken  a  carriage 
at  Tiberius  and  driven  rapidly  over  the  hills.  Mr.  Waldo's  letter, 
announcing  Bute's  dangerous  condition  and  Mrs.  Babb's  death, 
had  greatly  startled  and  shocked  him.  His  summer  tour  was 
nearly  at  an  end,  and  he  at  once  determined  to  return  to  Lake- 
side for  the  autumn  and  winter.  He  was  not  surprised  to  find 
his  household  in  charge  of  Miss  Dilworth,  for  the  news  had 
already  been  communicated  to  him.  She  met  him  at  the  door, 
blushing  and  slightly  embarrassed,  for  she  scarcely  felt  herself 
entitled  to  be  ranked  among  his  acquaintances,  and  the  calm 
reserve  of  his  usual  manner  had  always  overawed  her. 

*'  I  am  very  glad  to  find  yon  still  here,  Miss  Dilworth,"  he 
said,  pressing  her  hand  wanniy*,  "how  can  I  repay  you  for 
your  courage  and  kindness?     Bute — ?" 

"  He  is  much  better,  Sir.  He  is  expecting  you :  will  you 
walk  up  and  see  him  ?" 

"  Immediately,  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  carry  all  this  dust 
with  me.     I  will  go  to  my  room  first." 

"  It  is  ready,  Sir,"  said  Miss  Dilworth.  "  Let  me  have  your 
ooat." 

Before  Woodbury  had  finished  washing  his  face  and  hands, 
and  brushing  the  white  dust  of  the  highway  out  of  his  hair, 
thei-e  was  a  light  tap  on  the  door.     He  opened  it  and  beheld 


A   STORT    OP   AMERICAN   LIFE.  818 

his  coat,  neatlj  dusted  and  folded,  confronting  him  on  the  back 
of  a  chair.  Bute's  room  he  found  in  the  most  perfect  order 
The  weather  had  been  warm,  dry,  and  still,  and  the  window 
farthest  from  the  bed  was  open.  The  invalid  lay,  propped  ap 
with  two  extra  pillows,  awaiting  him.  "Woodbury  was  at  first 
shocked  by  his  pale,  wasted  face,  to  which  the  close-cut  hair 
gave  a  strange,  ascetic  character.  His  eyes  were  sunken,  but 
Btill  bright  and  cheerful,  and  two  pale-blue  sparks  danced  in 
them  as  he  turned  his  head  towards  the  door. 

"  Bute,  my  poor  fellow,  how  are  you  ?  I  did  not  dream  this 
would  have  happened,"  said  "Woodbury,  taking  the  large, 
spare  hand  stretched  towards  him. 

"  Oh,  I'm  doin'  well  now,  Mr.  Max,  'Twas  queer  how  it 
come — all  't  once't,  without  any  warnin'.  I  knowed  nothin' 
about  it  till  I  was  past  the  danger." 

"  And  Mrs.  Babb — was  she  sick  long  ?  Did  she  suffer 
much?" 

"  I  don't  think  she  suffered  at  all :  she  was  never  out  of  her 
head.  She  seemed  to  give  up  at  the  start,  I'm  told,  and  all 
the  medicines  she  took  was  no  use.  She  jist  made  up  her  mind 
to  die,  and  she  always  had  a  strong  will,  you  know,  Mr.  Max." 
Bute  said  this  quietly  and  seriously,  without  the  least  thought 
of  treating  the  memory  of  his  foster-mother  lightly. 

"  She  had  a  good  nurse,  at  least,"  said  "Woodbury,  "  and  you 
seem  to  be  equally  fortunate." 

""Well,  I  guess  I  am,"  answered  Bute,  his  face  on  a  broad 
grin,  and  with  more  color  in  it  than  he  had  shown  for  many 
days.  "I've  had  the  best  o'  nussin',  Mr.  Max.  Not  but 
what  Pat  and  Mr.  Merrj'Seld  was  as  kind  as  they  could  be — 
'twasu't  the  same  thing.  And  I  may  as  well  out  with  it 
plump  :  there's  no  nuss  quite  ek'l  to  a  man's  own  wife." 

"  "Wife !"  exclaimed  Woodbury,  in  amazement. 

"  AVell — no — not  jist  yit,"  stammered  Bute;  "but  she  will 
be  as  soon  as  I  git  well  enough  to  marry.     I'd  been  hankerin' 
after  her  for  these  two  years,  Mr.  Max.,  but  it  mightn't  ha' 
come  to  nothin'  i.'I  hadn't  got  sick." 
14 


S14  HANNAH   TUUBSTOlf: 

"  You  mean  Miss  Dilworth,  of  course  ?" 

Bute  nodded  his  head. 

"  You  astonish  me,  Bute.  I  scarcely  know  her  at  all,  but  1 
think  you  have  too  much  good  sense  to  make  a  mistake.  1 
•f  ish  you  joy,  with  all  my  heart ;  and  yet" — he  continued  in  a 
graver  tone,  taking  Bute's  hand,  "  I  shall  be  almost  sorry  for 
it,  if  this  marriage  should  deprive  me  of  your  services  on  the 
fiirm." 

"  How  ?"  cried  Bute,  instantly  recovering  his  former  pale- 
ness, "  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Max.,  that  you  wouldn't  want  me 
afterwards  ?" 

"  No,  no,  Bute  !  On  the  contrary,  I  should  be  glad  to  see 
you  settled  and  contented.  But  it  is  natural,  now,  that  you 
should  wish  to  have  a  farm  of  your  own,  and  as  Mrs.  Babb'a 
legacy  will  enable  you  to  buy  a  small  one,  I  thought " 

"  Bless  you,  Mr.  Max. !"  interrupted  Bute,  "  it  would  be  a 
small  one.  What's  a  few  hundred  dollars  ?  I've  no  notion  o' 
goin'  into  farmiu'  on  a  ten-acre  lot." 

*'  Mr.  Waldo  tells  me  that  her  property  amounts  to  abou^t 
twenty-seven  hundred  dollars." 

"  Twenty — seven — hundred T^  and  Bute  feebly  tried  t< 
whistle.  "  Well — Motlier  Forty  always  was  a  cute  'un — who'd 
ha'  thought  it  ?  And  she's  left  it  all  to  me — she  keered  a 
mighty  sight  more  for  me  than  she  let  on."  Hei-e  something 
rose  in  his  throat  and  stopped  his  voice  for  a  moment.  '*  I'll 
do  her  biddm'  by  it,  that  I  will !"  he  resumed.  "  I  shall  hjave 
it  out  at  interest,  and  not  touch  a  cent  of  the  capital.  Timf 
enough  for  ray  children  to  draw  that.  Oh,  Mr.  Max.,  now  the 
Lord  may  jist  send  as  many  youngsters  to  me  and  Carrie,  a* 
Ue  pleases." 

A  dim  sensation,  like  the  memory  of  a  conquered  sorrow, 
*^eighed  upon  Woodbury's  heart  for  an  instant,  and  passed 
iway. 

*'  I  know  when  I'm  well  off,'''  Hiit(>  went  on.  "  Fm  content 
ed  to  stay  as  I  am:  every  tli'  •  >  tln'  farm — the  horses,  th 
oxen,  the  pigs,  the  fences,  the  apple-trees,  the  timber-land— 


A    8T0EY   OP   AMBKICAN   LIFB.  318 

B^enis  to  me  as  much  mine  as  it  is  your'n.  If  I  had  a  favin  o' 
my  own,  it'd  seem  strange  like,  as  if  it  belonged  to  somebody 
else.  I've  got  the  hang  of  every  field  here,  and"  know  jist  what 
it'll  bring.  I  want  to  make  a  good  livin' :  I  don't  deny  that ; 
but  if  I  hold  on  to  what  I've  got  now,  and  don't  run  no  resks, 
and  put  out  th'  interest  ag'in  every  year,  it'll  roll  up  jist  about 
as  fast  and  a  darned  sight  surer,  than  if  I  was  to  set  up  formy- 
Belf.  If  you're  willin',  Mr,  Max.,  we  can  fix  it  somehow.  If 
the  tenant-house  on  the  'Nacreon  road  was  patched  up  a  little, 
it'd  do  for  the  beginnin'." 

"  We  can  arrange  it  together,  Bute,"  said  Woodbury,  rising. 
"Now  you  have  talked  long  enough,  and  must  rest.  I  will 
see  you  again  before  I  go  to  bed." 

As  Miss  Dilworth,  at  his  request,  took  her  seat  at  the  table 
and  poured  out  the  tea,  Woodbury  looked  at  her  with  a  new 
interest.  He  had  scarcely  noticed  her  on  previous  occasions,  and 
hence  there  was  no  first  impression  to  be  removed.  It  seemed 
to  him,  indeed,  as  if  he  saw  her  for  the  first  time  now.  The 
ripples  in  her  hair  caught  the  light ;  her  complexion  was  tm- 
usually  fair  and  fresh ;  the  soft  green  of  her  eyes  became 
almost  brown  under  the  long  lashes,  and  the  mouth  was  infan- 
tine in  shape  and  color.  A  trifle  of  affectation  in  her  manner 
did  not  disharmonize  with  such  a  face ;  it  was  natural  to  her, 
and  Avould  have  been  all  the  same,  had  she  bein  eighty  years 
old  instead  of  twenty-six.  With  this  affectation,  however, 
were  combined  two  very  useful  qualities — a  most  scrupuloua 
neatness  and  an  active  sense  of  order.  "  Upon  my  soul,  it  is 
Lisette  herself,"  said  Woodbury  to  himself,  as  he  furtively 
watched  her  airs  and  movements.  Who  would  have  expected 
"o  find  so  many  characteristics  of  the  Parisian  grisette  in  one 
of  our  staid  American  communities  ?  And  how  astcnifehing, 
cot'.ld  he  h:u  e  known  it,  her  ambitious  assumption  of  Hannah 
'Hiuvston^  views  I  It  was  a  helmet  of  Pallas,  which  not  only 
covered  her  brow,  but  fell  forward  over  her  saucy  retroussfi 
nose,  ;iiiJ  wciuhed  lier  slender  body  half-way  to  the  earth. 

She  felt  his  scrutiny,  and  jierformed  her  tea-table  duties  with 


310  HANNAH   THUBSTON  : 

two  spots  of  bright  color  in  her  cheeks.  "Woodbury  Inew 
that  she  suspected  what  Bute's  principal  communication  to 
him  had  been,  and,  with  his  usual  straightforward  way  of 
meeting  a  delicate  subject,  decided  to  speak  to  her  at  once. 
She  gave  a  little  start  of  confusion — not  entirely  natural — as 
he  commenced,  but  his  manner  was  so  serious,  frank,  and  re- 
spectful, that  she  soon  felt  ashamed  of  herself  and  was  drawn 
to  her  own  surprise,  to  answer  him  candidly  and  natui'ally. 

"Bute  has  told  me.  Miss  Dilworth,"  said  he,  "of  youi 
mutual  understanding.  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  for  his  sake. 
He  is  an  honest  and  faithful  fellow,  and  deserves  to  be  happy. 
I  think  he  is  right,  also,  in  not  unnecessarily  postponing  the 
time,  though  perhaps  I  should  not  think  so,  if  his  marriage 
were  to  deprive  me  of  his  services.  But  he  prefers  to  con- 
tinue to  take  charge  of  Lakeside,  rather  than  buy  or  lease  a 
farm  for  himself     I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  his  decision  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  she  answered :  "  I  should  not  like 
to  leave  this  neighborhood.  I  have  no  relatives  in  the  country, 
except  an  aunt  in  Tiberius.  My  brother  went  to  Iowa  five 
years  ago." 

"  Bute  must  have  a  home,"  Woodbury  continued.  "  He 
spoke  of  my  tenant-house,  but  besides  being  old  and  ruinous, 
it  is  not  well  situated,  either  for  its  inmates,  or  for  the  needs 
of  the  farm.  I  had  already  thought  of  tearing  it  down,  and 
building  a  cottage  on  the  knoll,  near  the  end  of  the  lane. 
But  that  would  take  time,  and "  -^ 

"  Oh,  we  can  wait,  Mr.  Woodbury !" 

He  smiled.  "  I  doubt  whether  Bute  would  be  as  ready  to 
wait  as  you,  Miss  Dilworth.  I  am  afraid  if  I  were  to  propose 
it,  he  would  leave  me  at  once.  No,  we  must  make  some 
other  arrangement  in  the  mean  time.  I  have  been  turning  the 
matter  over  in  my  mind  and  have  a  proposition  to  make  to 
you." 

"  To  me !" 

"  Yes.  Mrs.  Babb's  death  leaves  me  without  a  housekeeper. 
My  habits  are  very  simple,  the  household  is  small,  and  I  8e« 


A   STORy    OF    AMERICAN  UFS.  31? 

already  that  you  are  capable  of  doing  all  that  will  be  reqtdred. 
Of  course  you  will  have  whatever  help  you  need ;  I  ask  no- 
thing more  than  a  general  superintendence  of  my  domestic 
aflfe,irs  until  your  new  home  is  ready.  If  you  have  no  ob- 
jection of  your  own  to  make,  will  you  please  mention  it  tl 
Bute  ?" 

*'  Bute  will  be  so  pleased !"  she  cried.  "  Only,  Mr.  Wood 
bury,  if  it  isn't  more  than  I  am  capable  of  doing  ?  If  I'm 
able  to  give  you  satisfaction !" 

"  I  shall  be  sure  of  your  wish  to  do  so,  Miss  Dilworth," 
iaid  Woodbury,  rising  from  the  table ;  *'  and  I  have  the  far- 
ther guarantee  that  you  will  have  Bute  to  please,  as  well  as 
myself" 

He  went  into  the  library  and  lighted  a  cigar.  "Lucky 
fellow  !"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  sigh.  "  He  makes  no  in- 
tellectual requirements  from  his  wife,  and  he  has  no  trouble  in 
picking  up  a  nice  little  creature  who  is  no  doubt  perfection  in 
his  eyes,  and  who  will  be  faithful  to  him  all  his  days.  If  she 
doesn't  know  major  from  minor ;  if  she  confuses  tenses  and 
doubles  negatives  ;  if  she  eats  peas  with  her  knife,  and  trims 
her  bonnet  with  colors  at  open  war  with  each  other ;  if  she 
never  heard  of  Shakespeare,  and  takes  Petrarch  to  be  the  name 
of  a  mineral— what  does  he  care  ?  She  makes  him  a  tidy 
home ;  she  understands  and  soothes  his  simple  troubles ;  she 
warms  his  lonely  bed,  and  suckles  the  vigorous  infants  that 
spring  from  his  loins  ;  she  gives  an  object  to  his  labor,  a  con- 
tented basis  to  his  life,  and  a  prospect  of  familiar  society  in 
the  world  beyond  the  grave.  Simple  as  this  relation  of  the 
exes  is  for  him,  he  feels  its  sanctity  no  less  than  I.  His  es- 
pousals are  no  less  chaste ;  his  wedded  honor  is  as  dear,  his 
paternal  joys  as  pure.  My  nature  claims  all  this  from  woman, 
but,  alas  !  it  claims  more.  The  cultivated  intelligence  comes 
in  to  question  and  criticize  the  movements  of  the  heart.  Here, 
on  one  side,  is  goodness,  tenderness,  fidelity  ;  on  the  other, 
trace,  beauty,  refinement,  intellect — both  needs  must  be  ful- 
filled.    How  shall  I  ever  reach  this  double  marriage,  except 


318  nXKSA.U  THURSTON: 

through  a  blind  chance  ?  Yet  here  is  one  woman  in  whom  il 
would  be  nearly  fulfilled,  and  a  strange  delusion  into  which 
Bhe  has  fallen  warns  me  to  think  of  her  no  more  !" 

The  conscious  thread  of  his  thoughts  broke  off,  and  thej 
loosened  themselves  into  formless  revene.  As  he  rose  to  re- 
visit Bute's  chamber,  he  paused  a  moment,  thinking :  "  That 
r  can  analyze  her  nature  thus  deliberately,  is  a  proof  that  I  do 
not   love  her." 

Bute  was  delighted  with  the  new  arrangement  which  Wood- 
bury had  proposed  to  Miss  Dil worth.  The  latter  would  leave 
in  a  few  days,  he  said,  and  spend  the  subsequent  two  or  three 
weeks  before  the  wedding  could  take  place,  at  the  Widow 
Thurston's. 

"  After  it's  all  over,  Mr.  Max.,"  said  Bute,  "  she  shall  stay 
here  and  tend  to  the  house  jist  as  long  as  you  want ;  but— 
you  won't  mind  my  sayin'  it,  will  you  ? — there's  only  one 
right  kind  of  a  housekeeper  for  you,  and  I  hope  you  won't  b« 
too  long  a  findin'  her." 


k   8TOEY    OP    ,1MERICAN    UFE.  tlft 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

01   WHICH   HAITNAH  THtJBSTON  MAKES  A  NEW   ACQUADH  illTCrK 

In  another  week,  Bute  was  able  to  dispense  with  the  grate- 
ful nursing  which  had  more  than  reconciled  him  to  the  con 
fiuement  of  his  sick-room.  He  required  no  attendance  at 
night,  and  was  able  to  sit,  comfortably  pillowed,  for  a  great 
part  of  the  day.  He  consumed  enormous  quantities  of  chicken- 
broth,  and  drank  immoderately  of  Old  Port  and  Albany  Ale. 
Miss  Dil  worth,  therefore,  made  preparations  to  leave  :  she  was 
now  obliged  to  sew  for  herself,  and  a  proper  obedience  to  cus- 
tom required  that  she  should  not  remain  at  Lakeside  during 
the  last  fortnight  of  her  betrothal. 

On  the  morning  of  her  departure,  Woodbury  called  hei 
into  the  library.  "  You  have  done  me  a  great  sernce.  Miss 
Dilworth,"  said  he,  "  and  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  acknowl- 
edge it  by  furnishing  you  with  one  article  which  I  know  will 
have  to  be  provided."  With  these  words  he  opened  a  paper 
parcel  and  displayed  a  folded  silk,  of  the  most  charming  tint 
of  silver-gray. 

The  little  sempstress  looked  at  it  in  speechless  ecstasy. 
"It's  heavenly  !"  she  at  last  cried,  clasping  her  hands.  "  I'm 
obliged  to  you  a  thousand  times,  Mr.  Woodbury.  It's  too 
much,  indeed  it  is !" 

"  Bute  won't  think  so,"  he  suggested. 

She  snatched  the  parcel,  and  darted  up-stairs  in  ctret 
bounds.  ''  Oh,  Bute!"  she  cried,  bursting  into  his  rooni,  "on  y 
look  at  tliis!  It's  my  wedding-d  *■-;.<  I  And  he's  just  given  it 
to  me  1" 


tiO  HANNAU  THtTESTOK  : 

"  It's  the  prettiest  thing  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on,"  said  Bate, 
looking  at  the  silk  reverently  but  not  daring  to  touch  it 
"That's  jist  like  Mr.  Max. — what  did  I  always  tell  you  about 
hira?" 

After  Miss  Dilworth's  departure,  the  housekeeping  wai 
csonducted,  somewhat  indifferently,  by  the  old  negress.  She 
had,  however,  the  one  merit  of  being  an  admirable  cook,  and 
Woodbury  might  have  managed  to  live  with  her  assistance, 
for  a  fortnight,  but  for  one  awkward  circumstance.  He  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Mrs.  Blake,  saying  that  her  husband  had 
completed  his  business  in  the  East  and  they  were  preparing 
to  leave  Saratoga.  Would  it  be  still  convenient  for  him  to 
entertain  them  for  a  few  days  at  Lakeside,  on  their  return  to 
St.  Louis?  If  the  illness  in  his  household,  which  had  called 
him  home  so  suddenly,  still  continued,  they  would,  of  course, 
forego  the  expected  pleasure ;  but  if  not,  they  would  be  the 
more  delighted  to  visit  him,  as  it  was  probable  they  would 
not  come  to  the  East  the  following  summer.  Would  he 
answer  the  letter  at  once,  as  they  were  nearly  ready  to  leave  ? 

Woodbury  was  uncertain  what  to  do  in  this  emergency. 
There  was  no  longer  the  slightest  fear  of  contagion,  and  he 
particularly  desired  the  offered  visit ;  but  how  could  he  enter- 
tain his  friends  without  a  housekeeper?  He  finally  decided 
that  it  must  be  arranged,  somehow ;  wrote  an  afiirmative  an- 
swer, and  rode  into  Ptolemy  to  post  it  without  delay,  first 
calling  at  the  Cimmerian  Parsonage  to  ask  the  advice  of  a 
sensible  female  friend. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  after  stating  the  dilemma  to  Mrs.  Wal- 
do, "  now  that  my  tyrant  has  gone,  I  wish  her  back  again.  A 
despotism  is  better  than  no  government  at  all." 

"  AL,  but  a  republic  is  better  than  a  despotism  "  she  replied. 
"  Do  you  take  my  meaning  ?  I'm  not  certain,  after  all,  that 
ihe  figure  is  quite  correct.  But  the  thing  is  to  find  a  tempo- 
rary housekeeper.  I  know  of  no  single  disengaged  woman  in 
Ptolemy,  unless  it  is  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  and  her  mouro 
ful  countenance  and  habit  of  sighing,  would  be  very  discour- 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFB.  821 

a^og  to  your  guests,  even  if  she  were  willing  to  go.  Mrs.  Bu« 
is  a  complete  intelligence  office  for  Ptolemy,  servants.  Youi 
only  chance  is  to  see  her." 

"And  if  that  fails?" 

"  Then  there  is  no  hope.  I  shall  be  vexed,  for  I  want  to  see 
this  Mrs.  Blake.  If  it  were  not  for  taking  care  of  my  good 
husband,  I  should  myself  be  willing  to  act  as  mistress  of  Lake- 
side for  a  few  days." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  able  to  help  me !"  cried  Woodbury, 
joyfully.  "  Let  rae  add  Mr.  Waldo  to  the  number  of  mj 
guests.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  him,  and  the  change  may 
be  refreshing  to  him.  Besides,  you  will  have  us  all  at  the 
Cimmerian  Church,  if  the  Blakes  remain  over  a  Sunday." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  if  you  supposed  that  any  thing  of  the 
kind  was  in  my  thoughts,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo.  "  But  the  pro- 
posal sounds  very  pleasantly.  I  am  sure  we  both  should  enjoy 
it  very  much,  but  I  cannot  accept,  you  know,  before  consulting 
with  my  husband." 

"  Leav^  Mr.  Waldo  to  me." 

The  matter  was  very  easily  arranged.  The  clergyman,  faith- 
ful to  the  promise  of  his  teeth,  appreciated  a  generous  diet. 
His  own  table  was  oftentimes  sparely  supplied,  and  he  was 
conscious  of  a  gastric  craving  which  gave  him  discouraging 
views  of  life.  There  was  no  likelihood  of  any. immediate  birth 
or  death  in  his  congregation,  and  it  was  not  the  season  of  the 
year  when  members  were  usually  assailed  by  doubts  and  given 
to  backsliding.  More  fortunate  clergymen  went  to  the  water- 
ing places,  or  even  to  Europe,  to  rest  their  exhausted  lungs ; 
why  should  he  not  go  to  Lakeside  for  a  week  ?  They  had  no 
servant,  and  could  shut  up  the  parsonage  during  their  absence : 
but  the  old  horse  ? 

"  Wife,  we  must  get  somebody  to  look  after  Dobbin,"  he 
•aid,  thoughtfully. 

"  Bring  Dobbin  along,  Woodbury  laughed,  "  my  old  Dick 
will  be  glad  to  see  him." 

Although  neither  he  nor  the  Waldos  were  aware  that  they 
4*  


822  HANNAH   THUBSTON. 

had  sftoken  to  any  one  on  the  subject,  the  arrangement  thai 
had  been  made  was  whispered  to  everybody  in  Ptolemy  be- 
fore twenty-four  hours  were  over.  Nothing  was  known  of 
the  Blakes,  except  that  they  were  "fashionable,"  and  those 
who  would  h  ive  been  delighted  to  be  in  the  place  of  the  pool 
clergyman  and  his  wife,  expressed  their  astonishment  at  the 
conduct  of  the  latter. 

"  It's  what  I  call  very  open  communion,*'  said  the  Rev.  Mr 
r*inchman,  of  the  Campbellite  Church. 

Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin  heaved  three  of  her  most  mournful 
sighs,  in  succession,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Merry-makings  so  soon  after  a  death  in  the  house,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue :  "  it's  quite  shocking  to  think  of." 

"  Our  friend  is  getting  very  select,"  said  the  Hon.  Zeno 
Harder,  in  his  most  pompous  manner,  thereby  implying  that 
he  should  not  have  been  overlooked. 

Mr.  Grindle,  of  course,  improved  the  opportunity  on  every 
possible  occasion,  and  before  the  Blakes  had  been  two  days 
at  Lakeside,  it  was  reported,  in  temperance  circles,  that  they 
had  already  consumed  one  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  wine. 

Had  these  rumors  been  known  to  the  pleasant  little  com- 
munity of  Lakeside,  they  would  have  added  an  additional 
hilarity  to  the  genial  atmosphere  which  pervaded  the  house. 
But  it  was  quite  removed  from  the  clatter  of  the  village  gos- 
sip, and  by  the  time  such  news  had  gone  its  rounds,  and  been 
conveyed  to  the  victim  by  sympathizing  friends,  the  occasion 
which  gave  rise  to  it  had  entirely  passed  away.  In  our  small 
soantry  communities,  nothing  is  so  much  resented  as  an  indi- 
rect assumption  of  social  independence.  A  deviation  from  tho 
prevailing  habits  of  domestic  life — a  disregard  for  prevailing 
prejudices,  however  temporary  and  absurd  they  may  be — a 
visit  from  strangers  who  excite  curiosity  and  are  not  made  com- 
mon social  property :  each  of  these  circumstances  is  felt  as  an 
act  of  injustice,  and  constitutes  a  legitimate  excuse  for  assault 
Since  the  railroad  had  reached  Tiberius,  and  the  steamer  on 
Atauga  Lake  began  to  bring  summer  visitors  to  Ptolemy 


A   STORY   OF    4MEKICAN   LIFE.  323 

this  species  of  despotism  had  somewhat  relaxed,  but  it  r.ow 
and  then  flamed  up  with  the  old  intensity,  and  Woodbury 
was  too  cosmopolitan  in  his  nature  not  to  provoke  its  ex- 
erfdse. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waldo  reached  Lakeside  the  day  before  the 
a]  rival  of  the  Blakes,  and  the  latter  took  immediate  and  easy 
possession  of  her  temporary  authority.  In  addition  to  Me 
linda,  than  whom  no  better  cook,  in  a  limited  sphere  of  dishes, 
could  have  been  desired,  Woodbury  had  hit  upon  the  singular 
expedient  of  borrowing  a  chamber-maid  from  the  Ptolemy 
House.  Mrs.  Waldo's  task  was  thus  rendered  light  and 
agreeable — no  more,  in  fact,  than  she  would  have  voluntarily 
assumed  in  any  household  rather  than  be  idle.  It  was  more 
than  a  capacity — it  was  almost  a  necessity  of  her  nature,  tc 
manage  something  or  direct  somebody.  In  the  minor  details 
her  sense  of  order  may  have  been  deficient ;  but  in  regulating 
departments  and  in  general  duties  she  was  never  at  fault. 
Her  subordinates  instantly  felt  the  bounds  she  had  drawn  for 
them,  and  moved  instinctively  therein. 

The  Blakes  were  charmed  with  Lakeside  and  the  scenery 
of  the  Atauga  Valley.  Between  the  boy  George  and  Bute, 
who  was  now  able  to  sit  on  the  shaded  veranda  on  still,  dry 
days,  there  grew  up  an  immediate  friendship.  Miss  Josephine 
was  beginning  to  develop  an  interest  in  poetry  and  romances, 
and  took  almost  exclusive  possession  of  the  library.  Mr. 
Blake  walked  over  the  farm  with  Woodbury  in  the  forenoons, 
each  developing  theories  of  agriculture  equally  original  and 
impracticable,  while  the  Mesdames  Waldo  and  Blake  improved 
their  acquaintance  in  house  and  garden.  The  two  ladies  un- 
derstood each  other  from  the  start,  and  while  there  were  8(tme 
points,  in  regard  to  which — as  between  any  two  women  that 
may  be  selected — each  commiserated  the  other's  mistaken  views, 
Ihey  soon  discovered  many  reasons  for  mutual  sympathy  and 
mutual  appreciation.  Mrs.  Blake  had  the  greater  courage, 
Mrs.  Waldo,  the  greater  tact.  The  latter  had  more  natural 
graoe  and   pliaticy,  the  former   more   acquired   refinement  of 


S24  HANNAH  thubston: 

raanuer.  They  were  alike  in  the  correctness  of  their  instincta, 
but  in  Mrs.  Blake  the  faculty  had  been  more  exquisitely  de- 
veloped, through  her  greater  social  experience.  It  was  the 
«ame  air,  in  the  same  key,  but  played  an  octave  higher.  Mrs. 
Waldo  was  more  inclined  to  receive  her  enjoyment  of  lift 
through  impulse  and  immediate  sensation ;  Mrs.  Blake  through 
g  philosophic  discrimination.  Both,  perhaps,  would  have 
borne  misfortune  with  like  calmness ;  but  the  resignation  of 
one  would  have  sprung  from  her  temperament,  and  of  the 
other  fi'om  her  reason.  The  fact  that  the  resemblances  in  their 
matured  womanhood  were  developed  from  different  bases  of ' 
character,  increased  the  interest  and  respect  which  they 
mutually  felt. 

On  one  point,  at  least,  they  were  heartily  in  accord ;  namely, 
their  friendship  for  Woodbury.  Mrs.  Blake  was  familiar, 
as  we  have  already  described,  with  his  early  manhood  in  New 
York,  and  furnished  Mrs.  Waldo  many  interesting  particulars 
in  return  for  the  description  which  the  latter  gave  of  his  life 
at  Lakeside.  They  were  also  agreed  that  there  was  too  much 
masculine  sweetness  in  him  to  be  wasted  on  the  desert  air,  and 
that  the  place,  beautiful  as  it  was,  could  never  be  an  actual 
aome  until  he  had  brought  a  mistress  to  it. 

"  He  was  already  chafing  under  Mrs.  Babb's  rule,"  said  Mrs 
Waldo,  as  they  walked  up  and  down  the  broad  garden-alley, 
"and  he  will  be  less  satisfied  with  the  new  housekeeper. 
Bute's  wife — as  she  will  be — is  a  much  more  agreeable  per- 
son, and  will  no  doubt  try  to  do  her  best,  but  he  will  get  very 
tired  of  her  face  and  her  silly  talk.  It  will  be  all  ,the  worse 
because  she  has  not  a  single  characteristic  strong  enough  for 
him  to  seize  upon  and  say :  This  oflTends  me !  You  know  what 
I  mean  ?" 

"  Perfectly;  and  your  remark  is  quite  correct.  Mr.  Wood 
imry  is  one  of  those  men  who  demand  positive  character,  of 
some  kind,  in  the  persons  mih  whom  they  associate.  He  likes 
fast  colors,  and  this  new  housekeeper,  from  youF  description, 
must  be  a  piece  that  will  fide  the  longer  it  is  used.     In  thai 


A    STOBY    OF    AMEEICAN   LWE.  326 

ease,  she  will  become  intolerable  to  him,  though  she  may  not 
possess  one  serious  fault." 

"  That  characteristic  of  his,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  "  is  the  very 
reason,  I  think,  why  it  will  be  diflScult  for  him  to  find  a  wife." 

"  By  the  by,"  asked  Mrs.  Blake,  pausing  in  her  walk,  '*  he 
epoke  to  me,  when  we  met  on  the  Saguenay,  of  one  woman, 
here,  in  your  neighborhood,  who  seems  to  have  made  a  strong 
impression  upon  his  mind." 

"  It  was  certainly  Hannah  Thurston  I" 

"  He  did  not  give  me  her  name.  He  seemed  to  admire  her 
sincerely,  except  in  one  fatal  particular — she  is  strong-minded." 

"  Yes,  it  is  Hannah  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo.  "  She  u*  a 
noble  girl,  and  every  way  worthy  of  such  a  man  as  he — that  is, 
if  she  were  not  prejudiced  against  all  men." 

"  You  quite  interest  me  about  her.  I  heard  Bessie  Stryker 
once,  when  she  lectured  in  St.  Louis,  and  must  confess  that, 
while  she  did  not  convince  me,  I  could  see  very  well  how 
she  had  convinced  herself.  Since  then,  I  have  been  rather  tole- 
rant towards  the  strong-minded  class.  The  principal  mistakes 
they  make  arise  from  the  fact  of  their  not  being  married,  or  of 
having  moral  and  intellectual  milksops  for  husbands.  In  either 
case,  no  woman  can  undei'stand  our  sex,  or  the  opposite." 

"  I  have  said  almost  the  same  thing  to  Hannah  Thurston," 
Mrs.  Waldo  remarked.  "  If  she  would  only  take  one  step, 
the  true  knowledge  would  come.     But  she  won't." 

"  I  suspect  she  has  not  yet  found  her  Fate,"  said  Mrs.  Blake. 
"  Was  she  ever  in  love,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  sure  of  it.  She  has  refused  two  good  ofiera 
pf  marriage  to  my  knowledge,  and  one  of  them  was  from  a 
man  who  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  Women's  Rights.  1  can't 
understand  her,  though  I  love  her  dearly,  and  we  have  been 
intimate  for  years." 

"  Can  you  not  contrive  a  way  for  me  to  make  her  acquaint 
ance  ?" 

*'  Whenever  you  please.  I  have  no  doubt  she  remembers 
the  story  Mr.  Woodburv  told  as  last  winter.      I  am  hostess. 


326  HANNAn  thubstok: 

now,  you  know,  and  I  can  invite  her  to  dinner  to-moirow,  oiilj 
I  must  ask  somebody  else.  I  have  it!  Mr.  Woodbury  must 
invite  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Styles.  It  will  not  do  for  him  to  show  to* 
much  partiality  to  our  little  sect,  and  that  will  keep  up  the  bat 
wee  of  civility." 

^^  oodbury  accepted  the  proposition  with  more  satisfaction 
/lan  he  judged  proper  to  expi'ess.  It  was  the  very  object  he 
lesired  to  accomplish,  yet  which  he  could  not  himself  mention 
tvithout  exciting  suspicions  in  the  minds  of  both  the  ladies, 
tie  had  not  seen  Hannah  Thurston  since  his  return,  and  felt  a 
strange  curiosity  to  test  his  own  sensations  when  they  should 
meet  again.  Under  the  circumstances,  the  invitation  could  be 
given  and  accepted  without  in  the  least  violating  the  social 
propriety  of  Ptolemy. 

The  disturbing  emotion  which  had  followed  her  last  inter- 
view with  Woodbury  had  entirely  passed  away  from  Hannah 
Tiiuiston's  mind.  Her  momentary  resolution  to  avoid  seeing 
h  m  again,  presented  itself  to  her  as  a  confession  of  weakness. 
A  studied  avoidance  of  his  society  would  be  interpreted  as 
springing  from  a  hostility  which  she  did  not  feel.  On  the  con- 
trary, his  culture  attracted  her:  his  bearing  towards  her  was 
gratefully  kind  and  respectful,  and  she  acknowledged  a  certain 
ii)t,ellectual  pleasure  in  his  conversation,  even  when  it  assailed 
her  dearest  convictions.  Her  mother's  health,  always  fluctu- 
ating with  the  season  and  the  weather,  had  somewhat  improved 
m  the  last  calm,  warm  days  of  August,  and  she  could  safely 
leave  her  for  a  few  hours  in  Miss  Dilworth's  charge.  The  lat- 
ter, indeed,  begged  her  to  go,  that  she  might  bring  back  « 
niiimte  account  of  Bute's  grade  of  convalescence.  In  short, 
•there  was  no  plausible  excuse  for  declining  the  invitation,  had 
he  been  disposed  to  seek  one. 

It  was  a  quiet  but  very  agreeable  dinner-party.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Styles  were  both  amiable  and  pleasantly  receptive  persons,  and 
Mrs.  Waldo  took  care  that  they  should  not  be  overlooked  in 
the  lively  flow  of  talk.  Hiuinuh  Thurston,  who  was  seated  beside 
Mr.  Bhike  and  opposite  his  wife,  soon  overcame  her  lirst  timid 


A    STORY    OF   AMEBICAN   LIFE.  327 

ity,  and  conversed  freely  and  naturally  with  her  new  ac<iiiaiut- 
ancos,  Woodbury's  reception  of  her  had  been* frank  and  kind< 
but  he  liad  j^aid  less  to  her  than  on  former  occasions.  Never- 
theless, she  occasionally  had  a  presentiment  that  his  eyes  were 
ipon  her — that  he  listened  to  her,  aside,  when  he  was  engaged 
I)  c<m\  ersing  with  his  other  guests.    It  was  an  absurd  fancy,  of 

SI    but  it  constantly  returned. 

Mier  dinner,  the  company  passed  out  upon  the  veranda,  or 
scHtr.i  themselves  under  the  old  oaks,  to  enjoy  the  last  mellow 
Mtii    .Ine  of  the  afternoon.     Mrs.  Blake  and  Hannah  Thurston 
found  themselves  a  little  apart  from  the  others — an  opportunity 
which  the  former  had  sought.     Each  was  attracted  towards 
the  other  by  an  interest  which  directed  their  thoughts  to  the 
<ame  person,  and  at  the  same  time  restrained  their  tongues 
from   uttering  his  name.     Hannah  Thurston  had  immediately 
recognized  in  her  new  acquaintance  the  same  mental  poise  and 
self-possession,  which,  in  Woodbury,  had  extorted  her  unwil- 
ling respect,  while  it  so  often  disconcerted  her.     She  knew 
that  the  two  were  natives  of  the  same  social  climate,  and  was 
curious  to  ascertain  whether  they  shared  the  same  views  of 
life—  whether,  in  fact,  those  views  were  part  of  a  conventional 
creed  adopted  by  the  class  to  which  they  belonged,  or,  in  each 
case,  the   mature  conclusions  of  an  honest  and  trutn-seeking 
nature.     With  one  of  her  own  sex  she  felt  stronger  and  better 
armed  to  defend  herself     Mrs.  Blake  was  not  a  woman  of  un 
usual  intellect,  but  what  she  did  possess  was  awake  and  active, 
to  its  smallest  fibre.     What  she  lacked  in  depth,  she  maae  up 
in  quickness  and  clearness  of  vision.     She  did  not  attempt  to  fol 
low  abstract  theories,  or  combat  them,  but  would  let  fall,  as  if 
by  accident,  one  of  the  sharp,  positive  truths,  with  which  buth 
instinct  and  experience  had  stored  her  mind,  and  which  never 
^iled  to  prick  and  let  the  wind  out  of  every  bubble  bltwn  to- 
wards her.     This  faculty,  added  to  the  advantage  of  sex,  made 
her  the   most   dangerous  antagonist  Hannah  Thurston  could 
liave  mjt.     But  the  latter,  unsuspecting,  courted  her  fate. 

The   conve'-sqtion,  commencing  with  the   beauties  of  tit* 


S28  HANNAH  thukston: 

landscape,  branching  thence  to  Ptolemy  and  its  inhabitants,  to 
their  character,  their  degree  of  literary  cultivation,  and  the 
means  of  enlightenment  which  they  enjoyed,  rapidly  and 
naturally  approached  the  one  important  topic.  Hannah  TJmrs- 
ton  mentioned,  among  other  things,  the  meetings  which  were 
held  in  the  interest  of  Temperance,  Anti-Slavery,  Non-Resisl' 
•nee,  and  Women's  Rights  ;  Mrs.  Blake  gave  her  impressions 
of  Bessie  Stryker's  lecture;  Hannah  Thurston  grasped  the 
whoie  gauntlet  where  only  the  tip  of  a  finger  had  been  pre 
sented,  and  both  women  were  soon  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
debatable  ground. 

"  What  I  most  object  to,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  "  is  that  women 
should  demand  a  sphere  of  action  for  which  they  are  incapaci- 
tated— understand  me,  not  by  want  of  intellect,  but  by  sex." 

"Do  you  overlook  all  the  examples  which  History  fur- 
nishes ?"  cried  Hannah  Thurston.  "  What  is  there  that  Wo- 
man has  not  done  ?" 

"  Commanded  an  army." 

"Zenobia!" 

"  And  was  brought  in  chains  to  Rome.  Founded  an  em- 
pire ?" 

"  She  has  ruled  empires !" 

"  After  they  were  already  made,  and  with  the  help  of  men. 
Established  a  religion  ?  Originated  a  system  of  philosophy  ? 
Created  an  order  of  architecture  ?  Developed  a  science  ?  In- 
vented a  machine  V 

"I  am  sure  I  could  find  examples  of  her  having  distin- 
guished herself  in  all  these  departments  of  intellect,"  Hannah 
Thurston  persisted. 

"Distinguished  herself!  Ah!  yes,  I  grant  it.  After  the 
raw  material  of  knowledge  has  been  dug  up  and  quarried  out, 
and  smelted,  and  hewn  into  blocks,  she  steps  in  with  her  fine 
hand  and  her  delicate  tools,  and  assists  man  in  elaborating  the 
nicer  details.  But  she  has  never  yet  done  the  rough  work 
and  I  don't  believe  she  ever  will." 

"  But  with  the  same  education — the  same  preparation — th« 


A   STOEY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFS.  828 

rame  advantages,  trom  birth,  which  man  possesses  ?  She  is 
taught  to  anticipate  a  contracted  sphere — she  is  told  that  these 
pursuits  were  not  meant  for  her  sex,  and  the  determination  to 
devote  herself  to  them  comes  late,  when  it  oomes  at  ail.  Those 
intellectual  muscles  which  might  have  had  the  same  vigor  as 
man's,  receive  no  early  training.  She  is  thus  cheated  out  of 
the  very  basis  of  her  natural  strength :  if  she  has  done  so 
much,  fettered,  what  might  she  not  do  if  her  limbs  were  free  ?'' 
Hannah  Thurston's  face  glowed :  her  eyes  kindled,  and  her 
voice  came  sweet  and  strong  with  the  intensity  of  a  faith  that 
would  not  allow  itself  to  be  shaken.  She  was  wholly  lost  in 
her  subject. 

After  a  pause,  Mrs.  Blake  quietly  said  :  "  Yes,  if  we  had 
broad  shoulders,  and  narrow  hips,  we  could  no  doubt  wield 
sledge-hammers,  and  quarry  stone,  and  reef  sails  in  a  storm." 

Again  the  same  chill  as  Woodbury's  conversation  had  some- 
times invoked,  came  over  Hannah  Thurston's  feelings.  Her© 
was  the  same  dogged  adherence  to  existing  facts,  she  thought, 
the  same  lack  of  aspiration  for  a  better  order  of  things !  The 
assertion,  which  she  would  have  felt  inclined  to  resent  in  a 
man,  saddened  her  in  a  woman.  The  light  faded  from  her 
face,  and  she  said,  mournfully :  "  Yes,  the  physical  superiority 
of  man  gives  him  an  advantage,  by  which  our  sex  is  overawed 
and  held  in  subjection.  But  the  rule  of  force  cann^c  last  for- 
ever. If  woman  would  but  assert  her  equality  of  intellect, 
and  claim  her  share  of  the  rights  belonging  to  human  intelli- 
gence, she  would  soon  transform  the  world." 

Mrs.  Blake  instantly  interpreted  the  change  in  countenance 
and  tone ;  it  went  far  towards  giving  her  the  key  to  Hannah 
Thurston's  nature.  Dropping  the  particular  question  which 
bad  been  started,  she  commenced  anew.  '*  When  I  lived  in 
New  York,"  said  she,  "  I  had  many  acquaintances  among  the 
artists,  and  what  I  learned  of  them  and  their  lives  taught  me 
this  lesson — that  there  can  be  no  sadder  mistake  than  to  mis- 
calculate one's  powers.  Tliere  is  very  little  of  the  ideal  and 
imaginative  element  in  me,  as  you  see,  but  I  have  learn  .id  its 


880  HANNAH  thubston: 

nature  from  observation.  I  have  never  met  any  man  who  in- 
spired me  with  so  much  pity  as  a  painter  whom  I  knew,  who 
might  have  produced  admirable  tavern-signs,  but  who  per- 
sisted in  giving  to  the  world  large  historical  pictures,  which 
were  shocking  to  behold.  No  recognition  came  to  the  man, 
for  there  was  notching  to  be  recognized.  If  he  had  moderated 
his  ambition,  he  might  at  least  have  gained  a  living,  but  ho 
was  ruined  before  he  could  be  brought  to  perceive  the  truth, 
and  then  d\ed,  I  am  sure,  of  a  broken  heart." 

"And  you  mean,"  said  Miss  Thurston,  slowly,  "that  I — 
that  wp  who  advocate  the  just  claims  of  our  sex,  are  making 
the  same  mistake." 

"  I  mean,"  Mrs.  Blake  answered,  "  that  you  should  be  very 
careful  not  to  over-estimate  the  capacity  of  our  sex  by  your 
own,  as  an  individual  woman.  You  may  be  capable — under 
certain  conditions — of  performing  any  of  the  special  intel 
lectual  employments  of  Man,  but  to  do  so  you  must  sacrifice 
your  destiny  as  a  woman — you  must  seal  up  the  wells  from 
which  a  woman  draws  her  purest  happiness." 

"  Why  ?" 

*'  Ah,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  tendurly,  "  if  your  hair 
were  as  gray  as  mine,  and  you  had  tw^o  such  creatures  about 
you  as  Josey  and  George  yonder,  you  would  not  ask.  There 
are  times  when  a  woman  has  no  independent  life  of  her  own 
— when  her  judgment  is  wavering  and  obscured — when  her 
impulses  are  beyond  her  control.  The  business  of  the  world 
must  go  on,  in  its  fixed  order,  w^hether  she  has  her  share  in  it 
or  not.  Congresses  cannot  be  adjourned  nor  trials  postponed, 
nor  suffering  paticTits  neglected,  to  await  her  necessities.  The 
prime  of  a  man's  activity  is  the  period  of  her  subjection.  She 
must  then  begin  her  political  career  in  th6  decline  of  her 
faculties,  when  she  will  never  be  able  to  compete  succes-^full} 
with  man,  in  any  occupation  which  he  has  followed  from 
youth." 

Hannah  Thurston  felt  that  there  must  be  truth  in  these 
words.     At  least  it  was  not  for  her,  in  her  maiden  ignorance 


A   STOET   OF   AMEBICAK  LIFB.  331 

to  contradict  them.  But  she  was  sure,  nevertheless,  that  Mrs. 
Blake's  statement  was  not  sufficient  to  overthrow  her  theory 
of  woman's  equality.  She  reflected  a  moment  before  she 
Bpoke  again,  and  her  tone  was  less  earnest  and  confident  '..han 
usual. 

"  The  statesmen  and  jurists,  the  clergymen,  physicians,  and 
men  of  science,"  she  said,  "  comprise  but  a  small  number  of 
the  men.  Could  not  our  sex  spare  an  equal  number  ?  Would 
not  some  of  us  sacrifice  a  part  of  our  lives,  if  it  were 
uecessary  ?" 

"And  lose  the  peace  and  repose  of  domestic  life,  which 
consoles  and  supports  the  public  life  of  man !"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Blake.  "  It  is  not  in  his  nature  to  make  this  sacrifice — still 
less  is  it  in  ours.  You  do  not  thinic  what  you  are  saying. 
There  is  no  true  woman  but  feels  at  her  bosom  the  yearning 
for  a  baby's  lips.  The  milk  that  is  never  sucked  dries  into  a 
crust  around  her  heart.  There  is  no  true  woman  but  longs, 
in  her  secret  soul,  for  a  man's  breast  to  lay  her  head  on,  a 
mgn's  eyes  to  give  her  the  one  look  which  he  gives  to  no- 
body else  in  the  world  !" 

Hannah  Thurston's  eyes  fell  before  those  of  Mrs.  Blake. 
She  painfully  felt  the  warm  flush  that  crept  over  neck,  and 
cheek,  and  brow,  betraying  her  secret,  but  betraying  it,  for- 
tunately, to  a  noble  and  earnest-hearted  woman.  A  silence 
ensued,  which  neither  knew  how  to  break. 

"  What  are  you  plotting  so  seriously  ?"  broke  in  Wood- 
bury's voice,  close  behind  them.  "  I  must  interrupt  this  tete- 
(l-tete,  Mrs.  Blake.     See  what  you  are  losing  ?" 

They  both  rose  and  turned,  in  obedience  to  the  movement 
of  his  hand.  The  sun  had  sunk  so  low  that  the  shade  of  the 
western  hill  filled  all  the  bed  of  the  valley,  and  began  to  creep 
up  the  CAatern  side.  A  light  blue  film  was  gathering  over  the 
marsh  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  where  it  divided  into  two  lines, 
pointmg  up  the  creeks.  But  the  patches  of  woodland  on  the 
East  Atauga  hill,  the  steep  fields  of  tawny  oat-stubble,  and  the 
fronts  of  wliite  farm-houses   and  barns   in  the   distance,  wer« 


832  HANVAH  thuKston: 

drowned  in  a  bath  of  airy  gold,  slowly  deepening  into  flame 
color  as  its  tide-mark  rose  higher  on  the  hills.  Over  Ptolemj 
a  mountain  of  fire  divided  the  forking  valleys,  which  receded 
on  either  hand,  southward,  into  dim  depths  of  amethyst. 
Higher  and  higher  crept  the  splendor,  until  it  blazed  like  a 
fringe  on  the  topmost  forests  and  fields :  then  it  suddenly  wert 
out  and  was  transferred  to  a  rack  of  broken  cloud,  overhead. 

Mrs.  Styles  presently  made  her  appearance,  bonneted  for 
the  return  to  Ptolemy.  Hannah  Thurston  was  to  accompany 
her.  But  as  they  drove  homewards  through  the  cool  evening 
air,  through  the  ripe  odors  of  late-flowering  grasses,  and  the 
golden-rods  on  the  road-banks  and  the  eupatoriums  in  the 
meadows,  it  was  the  passionate  yearning  of  the  woman,  not 
the  ambition  of  the  man,  which  had  entire  posseBsion  of  her 
heart 


A   STOBY    OF    AMERICAN   LLPS.  SM 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

nr   WHICH   A   WEDDING  TAKES   PLAGB. 

*'  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  said  Mrs.  Blake,  the  sam« 
evening,  as  they  were  all  gathered  together  in  the  library, 
''  that  I  have  taken  an  immense  Ukiug  to  your  strong-minded 
woman?" 

"  Indeed  !"  he  remarked,  with  assumed  indifference. 

"  Yes.  I  had  a  serious  talk  with  her.  I  employed  a  mora! 
probe,  and  what  do  you  think  I  found  ?" 

"  What  ?"  he  repeated,  turning  towards  her  with  an  expres- 
sion of  keen  interest. 

"No,  it  would  not  be  fair,"  tantalizingly  answered  Mrs.  Blake, 
in  her  most  deliberate  tones.  "I  shall  not  betray  any  discoveries 
I  have  accidentally  made.  She  is  too  earnest  and  genuine  a 
nature  to  be  disposed  of  with  a  pleasantry.  I  will  only  say 
this — as  far  as  she  is  wrong — which,  of  course,  is  admitting 
that  she  is  partly  right,  I,  woman  as  I  am,  would  undertake 
to  convince  her  of  it.  A  man,  therefore,  ought  to  be  able  to 
restore  her  to  the  true  faith  more  easily.  Yet  you  have  been 
living  at  Lakeside  nearly  a  year  and  have  not  succeeded." 

"  I  have  never  tried,  my  friend,"  said  Woodbury. 

"Really?" 

"  Of  course  not.  Why  should  I  ?  She  is  relentless  in  her 
prejudices,  even  in  those  which  spring  from  her  limited  knowl- 
edo-e  of  life.  The  only  cure  for  such  is  in  a  wider  experience. 
She  cannot  understand  that  a  humane  and  liberal  tolerance  of 
all  varieties  of  habit  and  opinion  is  compatible  with  sincerity 
of  character.  She  would  make  every  stream  turn  some  kind 
of  a  mill,  while  I  am  willing  to  see  one  now  and  then  dash 


834  HANNAH  THUESTOW: 

itself  to  pieces  over  the  rocks,  for  the  sake  of  (he  epray.  and 
the  rainbows.  I  confess,  though,  that  I  do  not  think  this 
moral  rigidity  is  entirely  natural  to  her;  but  the  very  fact  that 
she  has  slowly  reasoned  herself  into  it,  and  so  intrenched  and 
defended  herself  against  attack  from  all  quarters,  makes  it  so 
much  the  more  difficult  for  her  to  strike  her  flag.  If  you 
were  to  approach  her  position  disarmed  and  propose  a  truce, 
she  would  look  upon  it  as  the  stratagem  of  an  enemy." 

*'  No,  no !"  cried  Mrs.  Blake,  shaking  her  head,  with  a  mis- 
chievous sparkle  in  her  eyes;  "that  is  not  the  way  at  all! 
Don't  you  know  that  a  strong  woman  can  only  be  overcome 
by  superior  stiength?  No  white  flags — no  proposals  of 
truce — but  go,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  fire  a  train  to  the 
mine  which  shall  blow  her  fortress  to  atoms  in  a  moment !" 

"Bravo!  What  a  commander  is  lost  to  the  world  in  you! 
But  suppose  I  don't  see  any  train  to  the  mine?" 

"Pshaw!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Blake,  turning  away  in  mock 
contempt.  "  You  know  very  well  that  there  is  but  one  kind 
of  moral  gunpowder  to  be  used  in  such  cases.  I  am  going  to 
drive  into  Ptolemy  this  afternoon  with  Mrs.  Waldo,  and  I 
shall  make  a  call  at  the  Thurston  cottage.  Will  you  go  with 
us?" 

"  Thank  you,  not  to-day.  Mr.  Blake  and  I  have  arranged 
to  take  a  boat  on  the  Lake  and  fish  for  pickerel.  It  is  better 
sport  than  firing  trains  of  moral  gunpowder." 

The  two  ladies  drove  into  Ptolemy  as  they  had  proposed. 
Mrs.  Blake  made  herself  quite  ai  nome  at  the  Cimmerian 
Parsonage,  where  she  recognized  the  Christus  Consolator  as 
an  old  friend  out  of  her  own  bedroom,  and  went  into  raptures 
over  Hannah  Thurston's  bouquet  of  grasses.  She  mentally 
determined  to  procure  from  the  donor  a  simitar  oniameut  for 
her  boudoir  in  St.  Louis,  and  managed  the  matter,  indeed, 
with  such  skill  that  Miss  Thurston  innocently  supposed  the 
offer  to  make  and  forward  the  bouquet  came  spontaneously 
from  herself. 

To  the  "o^-J-^w  Thurston's  cottage  Mrs.  Blake  came  like  a 


A   STORY    OP   AMERIUAX   LIFB.  33S 

itrong,  refreshing  breeze.  In  other  households,  her  sharp, 
clear,  detective  nature  might  have  uncomfortably  blown 
away  the  drapery  from  pany  concealed  infirmities,  but  here  it 
encountered  only  naked  truthfulness,  and  was  welcome.  Sho 
bowed  down  at  once  before  the  expression  of  past  trials  in 
the  old  woman's  face,  and  her  manner  assumed  a  tenderness  all 
Uie  sweeter  and  more  fascinating  that  it  rarely  came  to  the 
urface.  She  took  Miss  Dilworth's  measure  at  a  single  glance, 
and  the  result,  as  she  afterwards  expressed  it  to  Mrs.  Waldo, 
was  much  more  favorable  than  that  lady  had  anticipated. 

"  He  could  not  have  a  better  housekeeper  than  she,  just  at 
pi'esent." 

"  Why,  you  astonish  me !"  Mrs.  Waldo  exclaimed ;  "  why 
do  you  think  so  ?" 

*'  I  have  no  particular  reason  for  thinking  so,"  Mrs.  Blake 
answered  ;  "  it's  a  presentiment." 

Mrs.  Waldo  turned  away  her  eyes  from  Dobbin's  ears 
(which  she  always  watched  with  some  anxiety,  although  the 
poor  old  beast  had  long  since  forgotten  how  to  shy  them  back), 
and  inspected  her  companion's  face.  It  was  entirely  grav? 
and  serious.  "  Oh,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  puzzled  tone,  "that's 
all?" 

"Yes,  and  therefore  you  won't  think  it  worth  much. 
But  my  presentiments  are  generally  correct :  wait  and  see." 

The  Blakes  remained  over  a  Sunday,  and  went,  as  it  was 
generally  surmised  they  would,  to  the  Cimmerian  Church. 
Tlio  attendance 'Was  unusually  large  on  that  day,  embracing, 
to  the  surprise  of  ]Mrs.  Waldo,  the  Hamilton  Bues  and  Miss 
lluhaney  Goodwin.  On  -!.;■  entrance  of  the  strangers  into 
the  church,  a  subdued  rustling  sound  ran  along  the  benchef 
(pews  were  not  allowed  by  the  Cimmerians),  and  most  of  the 
heads  turned  stenltluly  towards  the  door.  The  imme- 
diate silence  that  followed  h;\d  something  of  disappointment 
in  it.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  the  tall,  keen-eyed 
lady  in  i)l:un  black  silk,  or  the  stout,  shrewd-faced,  gray- 
wlnskered  man  who  followed  her.     Miss  Josephine's  flat  straw 


886  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

hat  and  blue  silk  mantilla  attracted  much  more  attention 
among  the  younger  members  of  the  congregation.  After  the 
hymn  had  been  given  out,  however,  and  the  first  bars  of  the 
triumphant  choral  of  "Wilmot"  (according  to  the  musio- 
books,  but  Carl  Maria  von  Weber  in  the  world  of  Art)  were 
heard,  a  new  voice  gradually  took  its  place  in  the  midst  of 
the  accustomed  and  imperfectly  according  sounds,  and  very 
soon  assumed  the  right  of  a  ru.er,  forcing  the  others  to  keep 
step  with  it  in  the  majestic  movement  of  the  choral.  Not 
remarkably  sweet,  but  of  astonishing  strength  and  metal- 
lic sonority,  it  pealed  like  a  trumpet  at  the  head  of  the  ill- 
disciplined  four  battalions  of  singers,  and  elevated  them  to  a 
new  confidence  in  themselves. 

The  voice  was  Mrs.  Blake's.  She  professed  to  be  no  singer, 
for  she  knew  her  own  deficiencies  so  well,  that  she  never  at- 
tempted to  conceal  them;  but  her  voice  had  the  one  rare 
element,  in  a  woman,  of  power,  and  was  therefore  admirably 
effective  in  a  certain  range  of  subjects.  In  society  she  rarely 
saijg  any  except  Scotch  songs,  and  of  these  especially  such  as 
dated  from  the  rebellion  of  1745 — those  gloriously  defiant 
lays,  breathing  of  the  Highlands  and  the  heather  and  bonnie 
Prince  Charlie,  which  cast  an  immortal  poetic  gleam  over  the 
impotent  attempt  to  restore  a  superannuated  dynasty.  Had 
she  lived  in  those  days  Mrs.  Blake  might  have  sung  the  slogan 
to  the  gathering  clans :  as  it  was,  these  songs  were  the  only 
expression  of  the  fine  heroic  capacity  which  was  latent  in  her 
nature.  She  enjoyed  the  singing  fully  as  much  as  her  auditors 
the  hearing,  and,  if  the  truth  could  be  distinctly  known,  it  it 
quite  probable  that  she  had  prompted  Mr.  Waldo  in  his  se- 
lection of  the  hymn.  Her  participation  in  it  threw  the  whole 
Cimmerian  congregation  on  her  side,  and  the  Hamilton  Bues 
privately  expressed  their  belief  that  the  clergyman  had  taken 
an  undue  advantage  of  his  opportunities  as  a  guest  at  Lake- 
side, to  instil  his  heretical  ideas  of  baptism  into  the  minds  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Blake.  It  transpired  afterwards,  however,  that 
the  latter  were  Episcopalian,  both  by  faith  and  inheritance. 


A   STORY    OF    AMEKICA3T  LIFX.  ,         887 

The  day  at  last  arrived  for  the  breaking  np  of  the  new 
household,  to  the  great  regret  of  all  its  members.  Miss  Jose- 
phine tore  herself  with  difficulty  from  the  library,  only  par* 
tially  consoled  by  the  present  of  "Undine"  and  "  Sintraim." 
George  ^vanted  to  stay  with  Bute  and  learn  to  trap  musk-rat* 
and  snare  rabbits.  Mr.  Waldo  half  sheathed  his  teeth  witL 
his  insufficient  lips  and  went  back  to  his  plain  fare  with  a  sigh 
of  resignation.  The  ladies  kissed  each  other,  and  "Woodbury 
would  assuredly  have  kissed  them  both  if  he  had  known  how 
cVaritably  they  would  have  received  the  transgression.  Bute 
was  embarrassed  beyond  all  his  previous  experience  by  the 
present  of  half  a  dozen  silver  tea-spoons  which  Mrs.  Blake 
had  bought  in  Ptolemy  and  presented  to  him  through  her  boy 
Creorge. 

"You  are  going  to  begin  housekeeping,  I  hear,"  said  she, 
"  and  you  must  let  George  help  you  with  the  outfit." 

Bute  colored  like  a  young  girl.  "  They're  wnth  more'n  the 
silver,  comin'  to  us  that-a-way,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I'll  tell 
Carrie,  and  we  sha'n't  never  use  'em,  without  thinkin'  o'  you 
and  George." 

The  farewells  were  said,  and  Lakeside  relapsed  into  its  ac- 
customed quiet.  The  borrowed  chambermaid  was  returned  to 
the  Ptolemy  House,  and  the  old  Melinda  alone  remained  in 
the  kitclien,  to  prepare  her  incomparable  corn-cake  and  broiled 
chicken.  Bute  was  now  able,  with  proper  precautions,  to 
walk  about  the  farm  and  direct  the  necessary  labor,  without 
taking  part  in  it.  Woodbury  resumed  his  former  habit  of 
horseback  exercise,  and  visited  some  of  his  acquaintances  in 
r*tolemy  and  the  neighborhood,  but  the  departure  of  his 
pleasant  guests  left  a  very  perceptible  void  in  his  life.  Ha 
had  sufficient  resources  within  himself  to  endure  solitide, 
but  he  was  made,  like  every  healthily-constituted  man,  for 
society. 

Thus   a  few  days   passed   away,  and  Bute's  convalescence 
hesan  to   take   the  hue  of  absolute  health.     He  now  visited 
"tolemy  every  day  or  two,  to  watch  the  progress  made  in  a 
16 


trnS         ^  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

certain  8ll^  er-grfiy  dress,  and  to  enjoy  the  exquisite  novelty  of 
consulting  Miss  Dilworth  about  their  future  household  ar- 
rangements. The  latter  sometimes,  from  long  habit,  reassumed 
her  former  air  of  coquetry,  but  it  was  no  longer  tantalizing, 
and  an  earnest  word  or  look  sufficed  to  check  her.  A  charm 
ing  humility  took  the  place  of  her  aifected  superiority,  and 
became  her  vastly  better,  as  she  had  sense  enough  to  discern. 
Her  ringlets  had  disappeared  forever,  and  her  eyelids  grad- 
uallj  recovered  strength  for  an  open  and  steady  glance.  In 
fact,  her  eyes  were  prettier  than  she  had  supposed.  Their 
pale  beryl  tint  deepened  into  brown  at  the  edges,  and  when 
the  pupil  expanded  in  a  subdued  light,  they  might  almost  have 
been  called  hazel.  In  Spain  they  would  have  been  sung  as 
,  "  ojos  verdes'^  by  the  poets.  On  the  whole,  Bute  had  chosen 
more  sensibly  than  we  supposed,  when  we  first  made  Miss 
Dilworth's  acquaintance. 

The  arrangements  for  the  wedding  were  necessarily  few  and 
simple.  Woodbury  first  proposed  that  it  should  be  solemnized 
at  Lakeside,  but  Mrs.  Waldo  urged,  that,  since  her  husband 
was  to  officiate  on  the  occasion,  it  would  be  better  for  many 
reasons — one  of  which  was  Mrs.  Babb's  recent  deatli — that  it 
should  take  place  at  the  parsonage.  Miss  Dilworth  was  se- 
cretly bent  on  having  a  bridesmaid,  who  should,  of  course,  be 
Hannah  Thurston,  but  was  obliged  to  relinquish  her  project, 
through  the  unexpected  resistance  which  it  encountered  on 
the  part  of  Bute.  "None  of  the  fellows  that  I  could  ask  to 
stand  up  with  me  would  do  for  /ter,"  said  he. 

"Why  not  Mr.  Woodbury?"  suggested  Miss  Carrie. 

"  He  !  Well — he'd  do  it  in  a  minute  if  I  was  to  ask  him,  bu 
I  won't.  Betweer  you  and  me,  Carrie,  they  can't  bear  eacl 
other  ;  they're  like  cats  ^iACl  dogs." 

"Bute!  a'n't  you  ashamed?" 

"  What  ?  0'  tellin'  the  truth  ?  No,  nor  a'n't  likely  to  be. 
See  here,  Carrie,  why  can't  we  let  it  alone  ?  Mr.  Waldo'll  tie 
us  jist  as  tight,  all  the  same,  and  when  it's  over  you  won't 
know  the  diffi3rence." 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  339 

"  But — Bute,"  Miss  Carrie  persisted,  "  I  think  she  expects 
It  of  rae." 

"  She  ha'n't  set  her  heart  on  it,  I'll  be  bound.  FU  ask  her. 
Miss  Hannah  1" 

The  two  were  in  the  open  air,  at  the  comer  of  the  cottagi 
Dearest  the  garden.  The  window  of  the  little  sitting-room 
"was  open,  and  Bute's  call  brought  Miss  Thurston  to  it. 

*'  Oh,  Bute,  don't !"  pleaded  Miss  Dilworth,  ready  to  cry, 
out  he  had  already  gone  too  far  to  stop.  "  Miss  Hannah,' 
Baid  he,  "  we're  talkin'  about  the  weddin'.  I'm  thinkin'  it'll 
be  jist  as  well  without  waiters.  Carrie'd  like  to  have  you  for 
bridesmaid,  and  I'm  sure  I'd  be  glad  of  it,  only,  you  know, 
you'd  have  to  stand  up  with  somebody  on  ray  side,  and  there's 
nobody  I  could  ask  but  Mr.  Max,  and — and  I'm  afraid  thai 
wouldn't  be  agreeable,  like,  for  either  o'  you." 

"  Bute !"  cried  Carrie,  in  real  distress. 

Bute,  however,  was  too  sure  of  the  truth  of  what  he  had 
said  to  suspect  that  he  could  possibly  give  pain  by  uttering  it. 
The  first  rude  shock  of  his  words  over,  Hannah  Thurston  felt 
greatly  relieved.  "You  were  right  to  tell  me,  Arbutus,"  said 
•  she;  "for,  although  I  should  be  quite  willing,  at  another  time, 
to  do  as  Carrie  wishes,  no  matter  whom  you  might  choose  aH 
your,  nearest  friend,  I  think  it  best,  at  present,  that  there 
should  be  as  little  ceremony  as  possible.  I  will  talk  with  you 
about  it  afterwards,  Carrie."  And  she  moved  away  from  the 
window. 

At  length  the  iirhj/ortant  day  arrived.  Bute  woke  when  the 
cocks  crowed  three  o'clock,  and  found  it  impossible  to  get  to 
9leep  again.  His  new  clothes  (not  made  by  Seth  Wattles) 
ffQve  in  the  top  drawer  of  the  old  bureau,  and  Melinda  had 
^i-1  some  sprigs  of  lavender  among  them.  He  tried  to 
imagine  how  he  would  look  in  them,  how  he  would  feel  during 
the  ceremony  and  afterwards,  how  curious  it  must  be  to  have 
a  wife  of  your  own,  and  everybody  know  it.  He  pictured  to 
himself  his  friends  on  the  neighboring  farms,  saying:  "How's 
your  wife,  Bute?"   when  they  met,  and  then  he  thought  of 


340  HAXNAH   THURSTON: 

Mother  Forty,  and  what  a  pity  that  she  had  not  lived  long 
enough  to  know  Carrie  Wilson — who,  of  course,  would  be  a 
very  different  creature  from  Carrie  Dilworth ;  but  he  alwaya 
came  back  to  the  new  clothes  in  the  top  bureau-drawer,  and 
Uie  duty  of  the  day  that  was  beginning  to  dawn.  Then,  he 
heard  Pat.'s  voice  among  the  cattle  at  the  barn ;  then,  a  stir^ 
ring  in  the  kitchen  under  him,  and  presently  the  noise  of  the 
coffee-mill — and  still  it  was  not  light  enough  to  shave !  More 
slowly  than  ever  before  the  sun  rose ;  his  toilet,  which  usually 
lasted  five  minutes,  took  half  an  hour  ;  he  combed  his  hair  in 
three  different  ways,  none  of  which  was  successful ;  and  finally 
went  down  to  breakfiist,  feeling  more  awkward  and  tincoa[t< 
fortable  than  ever  before  in  his  life. 

Woodbury  shook  hands  with  him  and  complimented  him  on 
his  appearance,  after  which  he  felt  more  composed.  The 
preparations  for  the  ride  to  Ptolemy,  nevertheless,  impressed 
Uim  with  a  certain  solemnity,  as  if  he  were  a  culprit  awaiting 
execution  or  a  corpse  awaiting  burial.  A  feeling  of  helpless- 
oess  came  over  him :  the  occasion  seemed  to  have  been 
brought  about,  not  so  much  by  his  own  will  as  by  an  omnipo- 
tent fate  which  had  taken  him  at  his  word.  Presently  Pat. 
came  up  grinning,  dressed  in  his  Sunday  suit,  and  announced: 
"  The  hosses  is  ready,  Misther  Bute,  and  it'll  be  time  we're 
off."  After  the  ceremony  Pat.  was  to  drive  the  happy  pair  to 
Tiberius,  where  they  proposed  spending  a  honeymoon  of  two 
days  with  the  bride's  old  aunt.  He  wore  a  bright  blue  coat 
with  brass  buttons,  and  Meliuda  had  insisted  on  pinning  a 
piece  of  white  ribbon  on  the  left  lappel,  "  Kase,"  as  she  re- 
marked, "  down  Souf  ole  Missus  always  had  'urn  so." 

Woodbury  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off,  in  advanceii 
through  the  soft  September  morning.  At  the  parsonage  he 
found  every  thing  in  readiness.  Mrs.  Waldo,  sparkling  with 
jatisfaction,  rustled  about  in  a  dark-green  silk  (turned,  and 
with  the  spots  carefully  erased  by  camphene),  vibrating  inces 
snntly  between  the  little  parlor  where  the  ceremony  was  to 
\.'ike  place,  and  the  bedroom  up-stairs,   where  the  bride  WM 


A.   STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  841 

being  arrayed  under  the  direction  of  Hannah  Tlmrston. 
Nothing,  as  she  candidly  confessed,  enlisted  her  sympathies  so 
completely  as  a  wedding,  and  it  was  the  great  inconvenience 
of  a  small  congregation  that  her  hasband  had  so  few  occasions 
to  officiate. 

*' Promise  me,  Mr.  Woodbury,"  She  said,  as  she  finallj 
paused  in  her  movements,  from  the  impossibility  of  finding 
any  thing  else  to  do,  "  that  you  will  be  married  by  nobody  but 
Mr.  Waldo." 

"  I  can  safely  promise  that,"  he  answered :  "  but  pray  don't 
ask  me  to  fix  the  time  when  it  shall  take  place." 

"  If  it  depended  on  me,  I  would  say  to-morrow.  Ah,  there 
is  Bute  !  How  nicely  he  looks !"  With  these  words  she  went 
to  the  door  and  admitted  him. 

Bute's  illness  had  bleached  the  tan  and  subdued  the  defiant 
ruddiness  of  his  skin.  In  black  broadcloth  and  the  white  silk 
gloves  (white  kids,  of  the  proper  number,  were  not  to  be 
found  in  Ptolemy)  into  which  he  had  been  unwillingly  persuaded 
to  force  his  large  hands,  an  air  of  semi-refinement  overspread 
the  strong  masculine  expression  of  his  face  and  body.  Hia 
hair,  thinned  by  fever  and  closely  cut,  revealed  the  shape 
of  his  well-balanced  head,  and  the  tender  blue  gleam  in  his 
honest  eyes  made  them  positively  beautiful.  Mrs.  Waldo 
expressed  her  approval  of  his  appearance,  without  the  least 
reserve. 

Soon  afterwards,  a  rustling  was  heard  on  the  stairs ;  the 
door  opened,  and  Miss  Carrie  Dil  worth  entered  the  parlor  with 
blushing  cheeks  and  downcast  eyes,  followed  by  Hannah 
rhurstOD,  in  the  white  muslin  dress  and  pearl-colored  ribbona 
which  Woodbury  so  well  remembered.  The  bride  was  really 
charming  in  her  gray,  silvery  silk,  and  a  light-green  wreath 
crowning  her  rippled  hair.  Orange-blossoms  were  not  to  be 
had  in  Ptolemy,  and  there  were  no  white  garden-flowers  in 
bloom  except  larkspurs,  which  of  course  were  not  to  b« 
thought  of  Hannah  Thurston,  therefore,  persuaded  her  to 
content  herself  with  a  wreath  of  the  myrtle- leaved  box,  as  th« 


842  uANNAii  thueston: 

nearest  approach  to  the  conventional  bridal  diadem,  and  the 
effect  was  simple  and  becoming. 

Each  of  the  parties  was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  other's 
appearance.  Bute,  not  a  little  embarrassed  as  to  how  be 
should  act,  took  Miss  Dilworth's  hand,  and  held  it  in  his  own, 
deliberating  whether  or  not  it  was  expected  that  he  should 
kiss  her  then  and  there.  Miss  Dil worth,  finding  that  he  did 
not  let  it  go,  boldly  answered  the  pressure  and  clung  to  him 
with  a  natural  and  touching  air  of  dependence  and  reliance. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  charming  than  the  appearance 
of  the  two,  as  they  stood  together  in  the  centre  of  the  little 
room,  he  all  man,  she  all  woman,  in  the  most  sacred  moment 
of  life.  They  ex])ressed  the  sweetest  relation  of  the  sexes,  hb 
yielding  in  his  tenderness,  she  confiding  in  her  trust.  No 
declaration  of  mutual  rights,  no  suspicious  measurement  of 
the  words  of  the  compact,  no  comparison  of  powers  granted 
with  powers  received,  but  a  blind,  unthinking,  blissful,  recipro- 
cal self-bestowal.  This  expression  in  their  attitude  and  their 
faces  did  not  escape  Hannah  Thurston's  eye.  It  forced  upon 
her  mind  doubts  which  she  would  willingly  have  avoided,  but 
which  she  was  only  strong  enough  to  postpone. 

Pat.  Gac;  already  slipped  into  the  room,  and  stood  awkwardly 
in  a  corner,  holding  his  hat  in  both  hands.  The  only  other 
stranger  present  was  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson,  who  had  kindly 
assisted  A.--,  bncle  in  the  preparation  of  her  wardrobe,  and  who 
differed  rrom  her  sister  spinster,  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin,  in 
the  tact  that  she  was  always  more  ready  to  smile  than  sigh. 
All  being  assembled,  Mr.  Waldo  came  forward  and  performed 
the  simple  but  impressive  ceremony,  following  it  with  an 
eainest  prayer.  Miss  Carrie  lifted  up  her  head  and  pronounced 
the  "I  will''  with  courage,  but  during  the  prayer  she  bent  it 
again  so  that  it  partly  rested  against  Bute's  shoulder.  When 
the  final  "  Amen !"  was  said,  Bute  very  gently  and  solemnly 
kissed  his  wiie,  and  both  were  then  heartily  congratulated  by 
the  clergyman,  who  succeeded  in  closing  his  hps  sufficiently 
to  achieve  the  salute  which  an  old  triend  might  take  without 


A   SIOET    OF   AMEKI^AN  LIFE.  3^3 

btaiue.  nien  there  were  hearty  greetings  all  round :  the  cer- 
tificate of  marriage  was  signed  and  given  to  the  wife  for  safe- 
keeping, as  if  itfi  existence  were  more  important  to  her  than 
to  the  husband;  and  finally  Mrs.  Waldo  prepared  "what  the 
Hon.  Zeno  Flarder  would  have  called  a  "  coe-lation."  Wood- 
')iiry  had  been  thoughtful  enough  to  send  to  the  parsonage  a 
oottle  or  two  of  the  old  Dennison  Madeira,  rightly  judging 
I  hat  if  Mrs.  Babb  had  been  alive,  she  would  have  desired  it 
foi-  the  reason  tliat  "  sAe"  would  have  done  the  same  thing. 
Oil  tliis  occasion  all  partook  of  the  pernicious  beverage  except 
Hannah  Thurston,  and  even  she  was  surprised  to  find  but  a 
veiy  mild  condemnation  in  her  feelings.  The  newly-wedded 
couple  beamed  with  a  mixture  of  relief  and  contentment; 
Carrie  was  delighted  at  hearing  herself  addressed  as  "Mrs. 
Wilson,"  and  even  Bute  found  the  words  "your  wife,'"  after 
t'le  first  ten  minutes,  not  the  least  strange  or  embarrassing. 

Presently,  however,  the  wife  slipped  away  to  reappear  in  a 
pink  gingham  and  a  plaid  shawl.  The  horses  were  ready  at  the 
-loor,  and  Pat.  was  grinning,  whip  in  hand,  as  bestowed  away 
a  small  c  upet-bag,  containmg  mingled  male  and  female  articles, 
under  tlie  seat.  A  few  curious  spectators  waited  on  the  plank 
-idt-wiik,  opposite,  hut  Bute,  having  gone  through  the  grand 
ordeal,  now  felt  courage  to  tace  tiie  world.  As  they  took 
lh(Mr  seats,  ami  Pat.  gave  a  preliminary  flourish  of  his  whip, 
Mrs  WaMo  pioduceil  an  ancient  slipper  of  her  own,  ready  to 
hurl  it  at  the  right  nioineni.  The  horses  started;  the  slipper 
flew  whizzL'd  l)el\vi'eii  iheir  heads  and  dropped  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  cairiaire. 

"  Don't  look  back  I"  she  cried  ;  but  there  was  no  dang'T  oi 

hi.i.     The  road   niusi    have  been  very  rough,  for  B«ite  wa» 

:'bh>rt;d  to  put  his  arm  around  his  wife's   waist,  and  the  dusi 

mist  have   been   very  dense,  for   she  had   raised  her  handker 

chief  to  liei  eyes. 

"  vVill  vou  take  care  of  me  to-day?'"  said  Woodbury  to  th« 
Waldos.     "1  >liall  not  g<'  back  to  Lakeside  until  evening."' 


«44  SAITVAH  THUBSTOir* 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 

DBSCRIBmG    CERTAIN  TEOUBLES   OP  MB.  WOODBUBT. 

When  they  returned  to  Mrs.  "Waldo's  paxi  :,  the  cotversa- 
Lion  naturally  ran  upon  the  ceremony  which  h&d  Just  been  sol- 
emnized and  the  two  chief  actors  in  it.  There  was  but  one 
judgment  in  regard  to  Bute,  and  his  wife,  also,  had  gained 
steadily  in  the  good  opinion  of  all  ever  since  her  betrothal 
beside  the  sick-bed. 

"  I  had  scarcely  noticed  her  at  all,  before  it  happened,"  said 
Woodbury,  "  for  she  impressed  me  as  a  shallow,  ridiculous, 
little  creature — one  of  those  unimportant  persons  who  seem 
to  have  no  other  use  than  to  fill  up  the  cracks  of  society.  But 
one  little  spark  of  affection  gives  light  and  color  to  the  most 
insipid  character.  "Who  could  have  suspected  the  courage  and 
earnestness  of  purpose  which  took  her  to  Lakeside,  when  the 
fever  had  possession  of  the  house  ?  Since  then  I  have  heartily 
respected  her.  I  have  almost  come  to  the  conclusion  that  no 
amount  of  triumphant  intellect  is  worth  so  much  reverence  as 
we  spontaneously  pay  to  any  simple  and  genuine  emotion, 
common  to  all  human  beings." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Waldo, 
"  Because  then  you  will  never  fail  in  a  proper  respect  to  our 
sex.  Hannah,  do  you  remember,  when  you  lent  me  Long' 
fellow's  Poems,  how  much  I  liked  that  line  about  *  affection  ?' 
I  don't  often  quote,  Mr.  Woodbury,  because  Fm  never  sure  ol 
getting  it  exactly  right ;  but  it's  this : 

"  '  What  I  esteem  in  woman 
Ib  her  afifection,  not  her  intellect,' 

•*  And  I  believe  all  men  of  sense  do." 


A   STORY    OP    A^fERlCAK   LIFE.  345 

"  T  cannot  indorsb  the  sentiment,  precisely  in  those  words,'' 
Woodbury  answered.  "I  esteem  both  affection  and  intellect 
in  woman,  but  the  first  quality  must  be  predominant.  Its  ab- 
sence in  man  may  now  and  then  be  tolerated,  but  to  woman  it 
is  ind'spen sable." 

"  Might  not  woman  make  the  same  requirement  of  man  ?" 
Hannah  Thurston  suddenly  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  he  answered,  "  and  with  full  justice.  That  is 
one  point  wherein  no  one  can  dispute  the  equal  rights  of  the 
sexes.  But  the  capacity  to  love  is  a  natural  quality,  and  there 
is  no  true  affection  where  the  parties  are  continually  measuring 
their  feelings  to  see  which  loves  the  most.  Bute  and  his  wife 
will  be  perfectly  happy  so  long  as  they  are  satisfied  with  the 
simple  knowledge  of  giving  and  receiving." 

"  That's  exactly  ray  idea !"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  in  great 
delight.  "  Husband,  do  you  recollect  the  promises  we  made 
to  each  other  on  our  wedding-day?  There's  never  a  wedding 
happens  but  I  live  it  all  over  again.  We  wore  Navarino  bon- 
nets then,  and  sleeves  puffed  out  with  bags  of  down,  and  you 
would  lay  your  head  on  one  of  them,  as  we  drove  along,  just 
like  Bute  and  Carrie  to-day,  on  our  way  to  Father  Waldo's. 
I  said  then  that  I'd  never  doubt  you,  never  take  back  an  atom 
of  ray  trust  in  you — and  I've  kept  my  word  from  that  day  tc 
this,  and  I'll  keep  it  in  this  world  and  the  next !" 

Here  Mrs.  Waldo  actually  burst  into  tears,  but  smiled 
through  them,  like  the  sudden  rush  of  a  stream  from  which 
spray  and  rainbow  are  born  at  the  same  instant.  "  I  am  a 
silly  old  creature,"  she  said:  "don't  mind  me.  Half  of  mj 
heart  has  been  in  Carrie's  breast  all  morning,  and  I  knew  i 
should  make  a  fool  of  myself  before  the  day  was  out." 

"  You're  a  good  wife,"  said  ]Mr.  Waldo,  patting  her  on  Xi*. 
head  as  if  she  had  been  a  little  girl. 

Hannah  Thurston  rose,  with  a  wild,  desperate  feeling  in  he 
heart.     A  pitiless  hand  seemed  to  clutch  and  crush  it  in  hei 
bosom.     So,  she  thought,  some  half-drowned  sailor,  floatinjj 
on  the  plank  of  a  wreck,  must  feel  when  the  sail  that  promised 

16* 


346  HANXAH   THURSTON  : 

him  deliverance,  tacks  with  the  wind  and  slides  out  of  nii 
horizon.  The  waves  of  life,  which  had  hitherto  only  stirred 
for  her  with  the  grand  tidal  pulse  which  moves  in  their  depths, 
now  heaved  threateningly  and  dashed  their  bitter  salt  in  her 
&ce  at  every  turn.  Whence  came  these  ominous  disturb- 
ances? What  was  there  in  the  happy  marriage  of  twc 
gnorant  and  contented  somIs,  to  impress  her  with  such  vague 
intolerable  foreboding  ?  With  the  consciousness  of  her  in- 
ability  to  suppress  it  came  a  feeling  of  angry  shame  at  the 
deceitfulness  of  her  own  strength.  But  perhaps — and  this 
was  a  gleam  of  hope — what  she  experienced  was  the  dis- 
appointed protest  of  an  instinct  common  to  every  human  be- 
ing, and  which  must  therefore  be  felt  and  conquered  by  others 
as  well. 

She  stole  a  glance  at  Woodbury.  His  face  was  abstracted 
but  it  expressed  no  signs  of  a  struggle  akin  to  her  own.  The 
large  brown  eyes  were  veiled  with  the  softness  of  a  tender, 
sxibdued  longing  ;  the  full,  regular  lips,  usually  closed  with  all 
the  firmness  and  decision  of  his  character  in  their  line  of 
junction,  were  slightly  parted,  and  the  corners  drooped  with 
an  expression  unutterably  sad.  Even  over  cheeks  and  brow, 
a  soft,  warm  breath  seemed  to  have  blown.  He  appeared  to 
h^r,  suddenly,  under  a  new  aspect.  She  saw  the  misty  shadow 
which  the  passion  of  a  man's  heart  casts  before  it,  and  turned 
away  her  eyes  in  dread  of  a  deeper  revelation. 

As  she  took  leave  of  the  Waldos,  he  also  rose  and  gave  her 
his  hand.  The  tender  cloud  of  sadness  had  not  entirely  passed 
from  his  face,  and  she  avoided  meeting  his  gaze.  Whether  it 
was  the  memory  of  a  lost,  or  the  yearning  for  an  absent  love, 
which  had  thus  betrayed  itself,  she  felt  that  it  gave  him  the 
temporary  power  to  discern  something  of  the  .emotion  which 
bad  mastered  her.  Had  he  done  so,  she  never  could  have 
met  him  again.  To  this  man,  of  all  men,  she  would  continue 
to  assert  her  equality.  Whatever  weaknesses  others  might 
discover,  he  at  least  sliould  only  know  her  in  her  strength. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  rather  tamely  to  Woodbury,  and 


A   STOBT    OF   AMEBICAN    LIFE.  847 

as  he  rode  down  the  valley  during  the  sweet  and  solemn 
coining-on  of  the  twilight,  he  was  conscious  of  a  sensation 
which  he  had  not  experienced  since  the  days  of  his  early  trials 
in  New  York.  He  well  remembered  the  melancholy  Sabbath 
evenings,  when  he  walked  along  the  deserted  North  River 
piers,  watching  the  purple  hills  of  Staten  Island  deepen  inl<j 
gray  as  the  sunset  faded — when  all  that  he  saw,  the  quiet 
ressels,  the  cold  bosom  of  the  bay,  the  dull  red  houses  on  the 
shores  and  even  the  dusky  heaven  overhead,  was  hollow  and 
unreal — when  there  was  no  joy  in  the  Present  and  no  promise 
in  the  Future.  The  same  hopeless  chill  came  over  him  now. 
All  the  life  had  gone  out  of  the  landscape ;  its  colors  were 
cold  and  raw,  the  balmy  tonic  odor  of  the  golden-rods  and 
meadow  marigolds  seemed  only  designed  to  conceal  some 
rank  odor  of  decay,  and  the  white  front  of  Lakeside  greeted 
him  with  the  threat  of  a  prison  rather  than  the  welcome  of  a 
home. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  Bute  returned,  as  de- 
lighted to  get  back  as  if  he  had  made  a  long  journey.  The 
light  of  his  new  life  still  lay  upon  him  and  gave  its  human 
transfiguration  to  his  face.  Woodbury  studied  the  change,  un- 
consciously to  its  subject,  with  a  curiosity  which  he  had  never 
before  acknowledged  in  similar  cases.  He  saw  the  man's  su- 
preme content  in  the  healthy  clearness  of  his  eye,  in  the  light, 
elastic  movement  of  his  hmbs,  and  in  the  lively  satisfaction  with 
which  he  projected  plans  of  labor,  in  which  he  was  to  perform 
the  principal  part.  He  had  taken  a  fresh  interest  in  life,  and 
was  all  courage  and  activity.  In  Carrie,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  trustful  reliance  she  had  exhibited  appeared  now  to  have 
assumed  the  form  of  a  willing  and  happy  submission.  She 
recognized  the  ascendency  of  sex,  in  her  husband,  without 
being  able  to  discern  its  nature.  Thus  Bute's  plain  common- 
eense  suddenly  took  the  i'onn  of  rough  native  intellect  in  her 
eyes,  and  confessing  (to  herself,  only)  her  own  deficiency, 
her  affection  was  supported  by  the  pride  of  her  respect.  Her 
old  aunt  had  whispered  to  her,  before  they  left  Tiberius: 


848  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

"  Carrline,  you're  a  lucky  gal.  Y'r  husband's  a  proper  mo€ 
man  as  ever  I  see,  and  so  well  set-up,  too.  You'll  T)oth  be 
well  to  do,  afore  you  die,  if  you  take  keer  o'  what  you've  got^ 
and  lay  up  what  it  brings  in.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  wai 
able  to  send  your  boys  to  Collidge." 

This  suggestion  opened  a  new  field  for  her  ambition.  Tho 
•bought  seemed  still  a  scarcely  permitted  liberty,  and  she  did 
not  dare  to  look  at  her  face  in  the  glass  when  it  passed 
tn rough  her  mind  ;  but  the  mother's  instinct,  which  Inrks,  un 
suspected,  in  every  maiden's  breast,  boldly  asserted  its  ex- 
istence  to  the  young  wife,  and  she  began  to  dream  of  the 
future  reformers  or  legislators  whom  it  naight  be  her  for- 
tunate lot  to  cradle.  Her  nature,  as  we  have  already  more 
than  once  explained,  was  so  shallow  that  it  could  not  contain 
more  than  one  set  of  ideas  at  a  time.  The  acquired  aflfec- 
tations  by  which  she  had  hitherto  been  swayed,  being  driven 
from  the  field,  her  new  faith  in  Bute  possessed  her  wholly, 
and  she  became  natural  by  the  easiest  transition  in  the  world. 
Characters  like  hers  rarely  have  justice  done  to  them.  Gen- 
erally, they  are  passed  over  as  too  trivial  for  serious  inspec- 
tion :  their  follies  and  vanities  are  so  evident  and  transparent, 
that  the  2Jetit  verre  is  supposed  to  be  empty,  when  at  tho 
bottom  may  lie  as  potent  a  drop  of  the  honey  of  human  love, 
as  one  can  find  in  a  whole  huge  ox-horn  of  mead. 

Now  began  for  Woodbury  a  life  very  difierent  from  what 
he  liad  anticipated.  Bute  took  possession  of  his  old  steward- 
ship with  the  joyous  alacrity  of  a  man  doubly  restored  to  tho 
world,  and  Mrs.  Carrie  Wilson  fidgeted  about  from  morning 
until  night,  fearful  lest  some  iteglected  duty  in  her  department 
might  be  seen.  The  careful  respect  which  Woodbury  ex- 
ercised towards  her  gave  her  both  courage  and  content  in  her 
new  position,  while  it  preserved  a  certain  distance  between 
them.  She  soon  learned,  not  only  to  understand  but  to  share 
Bute's  exalted  opinion  of  his  master.  In  this  respect,  Wood- 
bury's natural  tact  was  unerring.  Without  their  knowledge, 
he  ^^uided  those  who  lived  about   him  to  the   exact   places, 


A.  STOBY    OF    AMKRTCAN    LIFE.  349 

irhicli  he  desired  them  to  fill.  In  any  European  household 
such  matters  would  have  settled  themselves  without  trouble ; 
but  in  America,  where  the  vote  of  the  hired  neutralizes  that 
of  the  hirer,  and  both  have  an  equal  chance  of  reaching  the 
Presidential  chair — where  the  cook  and  chambermaid  may 
happen  to  wear  more  costly  bonnets  than  their  mistress,  and 
to  have  a  livelier  interest  in  the  current  fashions,  it  requires 
no  little  skill  to  narmonize  the  opposite  features  of  absolute 
equaMty  and  actual  subjection.  Too  great  a  familiarity,  ao 
cording  to  the  old  proverb,  breeds  contempt;  too  strict  an 
assertion  of  the  relative  positions,  breeds  rebellion. 

The  man  of  true  cultivation,  who  may  fraternize  at  will 
with  the  humblest  and  rudest  of  the  human  race,  reserves, 
nevertheless,  the  liberty  of  selecting  his  domestic  associates 
Woodbury  insisted  on  retaining  his  independence  to  this  ex- 
tent, not  from  an  assumption  of  superiority,  but  from  a  resist- 
ance to  the  dictation  of  the  uncultivated  in  every  thing  that 
concerned  his  habits  of  life.  He  would  not  have  hesitated  to 
partake  of  a  meal  in  old  Melinda's  cottage,  but  it  was  always 
a  repugnant  sensation  to  him,  on  visiting  the  Merryfields, 
when  an  Irish  laborer  from  the  field  came  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
or  a  strapping  mulatto  woman,  sweating  from  the  kitchen  fire, 
to  take  their  places  at  the  tea-table.  Bute's  position  was 
above  that  of  a  common  laborer,  and  Woodbury,  whose  long 
Indian  life  had  not  accustomed  him  to  prefer  lonely  to  social 
meals,  was  glad  to  have  the  company  of  his  wedded  assistant? 
at  breakfast  and  dinner,  and  this  became  the  ordinary  habit ; 
but  he  was  careful  to  preserve  a  margin  suflBcient  for  his  owi< 
freedom  and  convenience.  Carrie,  though  making  occasional 
mistakes,  brought  so  much  good-will  to  the  work,  that  the 
housekeeping  went  on  smoothly  enough  to  a  bachelor's  eye«. 
If  Mrs.  Blake's  favorable  judgment  had  reference  to  this  aspect 
of  the  case,  she  was  suffi-nently  near  the  truth,  but  in  another 
respect  she  certainly  made  a  great  mistake. 

It  was  some  days  before  Woodbury  would  confess  to  him- 
«elf  the  disturbance  which  the  new  household,  though  so  con- 


860  HANNAH  THUESTON: 

leniently  regulated,  occasioned  him.  The  sight  of  Biite'l 
clear  morning  face,  the  stealthy  glance  of  delight  with  which 
he  followed  the  movements  of  his  beaming  little  wife,  as  sh<* 
prepared  the  breakfast-table,  the  eager  and  absurd  mancpuvrea 
which  she  perpetrated  to  meet  him  for  just  one  second  (long 
enough  for  the  purpose),  outside  the  kitchen-door  as  he  re 
nirned  from  the  field — all  these  things  singularly  annoyed 
Woodbury.  The  two  were  not  openly  demonstrative  in  their 
nuptial  content,  but  it  was  constantly  around  them  like  an 
atmosphere.  A  thousand  tokens,  so  minute  that  alone  they 
meant  nothing,  combined  to  express  the  eternal  joy  which 
man  possesses  in  woman,  and  woman  in  man.  It  pervaded 
the  mansion  of  Lakeside  from  top  to  bottom,  like  one  of  those 
powerful  scents  which  cling  to  the  very  wails  and  cannot  be 
washed  out.  When  he  endeavored  to  as'oid  seeing  it  or  sur- 
mising its  existence,  in  one  way,  it  presented  itself  to  him  in 
another.  When,  as  it  sometimes  happened,  either  of  the 
parties  became  conscious  that  he  or  she  had  betrayed  a  little 
too  much  tenderness,  the  simulated  indiflTerence,  the  unnatura) 
gravity  which  followed,  made  the  bright  features  of  their  new 
world  all  the  more  painfully  distinct  by  the  visible  wall  which 
it  built  up,  temporarily,  between  him  and  them.  He  was 
isolated  in  a  way  which  left  him  no  power  of  protest.  They 
wei'e  happy,  and  his  human  sympathy  forbade  him  to  resent  it; 
they  were  ignorant  and  uncultivated,  in  comparison  to  himself, 
and  his  pride  could  give  him  no  support ;  they  were  sincere, 
and  his  own  sincerity  of  character  was  called  upon  to  recog- 
nize it ;  their  bond  was  sacred,  and  demanded  his  reverence. 
Why,  then,  should  he  be  disturbed  by  that  which  enlisted  all 
his  better  qualities,  and  peremptorily  checked  the  exercise  of 
the  opposite  ?  Why,  against  all  common-sense,  all  gentle  in- 
Btiiicts,  all  recognition  of  the  loftiest  human  duty,  should  he 
in  this  new  Paradise  of  Love,  be  the  envious  serpent  rathei 
than  the  protecting  angel  ? 

The  feeling  was  clearly  there,  whatever  might  be  its  expla- 
nation.    There  were  times  when  he  sought  to  reason  it  away 


A   STOUT   OF   AMEBlCAX  LTPfi.  Sft] 

B8  the  imaginary  jealousy  of  a  new  landed  proprietor,  who 
presents  to  himself  the  idea  of  ownership-  in  every  pos 
sible  form  in  order  to  enjoy  it  the  more  thoroughly.  Lake- 
side was  his,  to  the  smallest  stone  inside  his  boundary  fence, 
and  the  mossiest  shingle  on  the  barn-roof;  buv  the  old  house 
—the  vital  heart  of  the  property — now  belonged  more  to 
Others  than  to  himself.  The  dead  had  signed  away  their  iii- 
terest  in  its  warmth  and  shelter,  but  it  was  haunted  in  every 
chambei  by  the  ghosts  of  the  living.  The  new-made  husband 
and  wife  filled  it  with  a  feeling  of  home,  in  which  he  had  no 
part.  They  had  usurped  his  right,  and  stolen  the  comfort 
which  ought  to  belong  to  him  alone.  It  was  their  house,  and 
he  the  tenant.  As  he  rode  down  the  valley,  in  the  evenings, 
and  from  the  bridge  over  Roaring  Brook  glanced  across  the 
meadows  to  the  sunny  knoll,  the  love,  which  was  not  his  own, 
looked  at  him  from  the  windows  glimmering  in  the  sunset  and 
seemed  to  say  :  "  You  would  uot  ask  me  to  be  your  gue^t,  but 
I  am  here  in  spite  of  you !" 

Woodbury,  however,  though  his  nature  was  softened  by  the 
charm  of  a  healthy  sentiment,  was  not  usually  imaginative.  He 
was  not  the  man  to  endure,  for  any  length  of  time,  a  mental  or 
moral  unrest,  without  attempting  to  solve  it.  His  natural  pow 
ers  of  perception,  his  correct  instincts,  his  calm  judgment,  and 
his  acquired  knowledge  of  lile,  enabled  him  to  interjjret  him- 
self as  well  as  others.  He  never  shrank  from  any  revelation 
which  his  own  heart  miuht  make  to  him.  If  a  wound  sniarted, 
ne  thrust  the  probe  to  the  bottom  with  a  steady  hand.  Tin 
pain  was  none  the  less,  afterwards,  perhaps,  but  he  could  e>li 
mate  when  it  would  heal.  He  possessed,  moreover,  the  viitu* 
BO  often  mistaken  for  egotism,  of  revering  in  himself  the  aspi 
rations,  the  sacrifices,  and  the  sanctities  which  he  revered  it 
other  men.  Understanding,  correctly,  his  nature  as  a  man, 
his  perceptions  were  not  easily  confused.  There  are  persona 
whose  moral  nature  is  permanently  unhinged  by  the  least 
license:  there  are  others  who  may  be  led,  by  circumstance, 
into   far  graver  aberrations,  and  then   swing  back,  without 


i6^  HANNAH  THURSTON: 

effort,  to  their  former  integrity.  He  belonged  to  tlie  lattei 
class. 

It  was  not  long,  therefore,  before  he  had  sui-veyed  the  whole 
ground  of  his  disturbance.  Sitting,  late  into  the  night,  in  hi« 
library,  he  would  lay  down  his  book  beside  the  joss-stick, 
R'hich  smouldered  away  into  a  rod  of  white  ashes  in  its  boat, 
and  qjiietly  deliberate  upon  his  position.  He  recalled  every 
sensation  of  annoyance  or  impatience,  not  disguising  its  injus- 
tice or  concealing  from  himself  its  inherent  selfishness,  while 
on  the  other  hand  he  admitted  the  powerful  source  from  which 
it  sprang.  He  laid  no  particular  blame  to  his  nature,  from  the 
fa  5t  that  it  obeyed  a  universal  law,  and  deceived  himself  by  no 
promise  of  resistance.  Half  the  distress  of  the  race  is  caused 
by  their  fighting  battles  which  can  never  be  decided.  Wood- 
bury's knowledge  simply  taught  him  how  to  conceal  his  trouble, 
and  that  was  all  he  desired.  He  knew  that  the  ghost  which 
had  entered  Lakeside  must  stay  there  until  he  should  bring 
another  ghost  to  dislodge  it. 

Where  was  the  sweet  phantom  to  be  found  ?  If,  in  some 
impatient  moment,  he  almost  envied  Bute  the  possession  of  the 
attached,  confiding,  insipid  creature,  in  whom  the  former  was 
so  imspeakably  content,  his  good  sense  told  him,  the  next, 
that  tlie  mere  capacity  to  love  was  not  enough  for  the  needs 
of  a  life.  That  which  is  the  consecration  of  marriage  does  not 
alone  constitute  marriage.  Of  all  the  women  whom  he  knew, 
but  one  could  ofier  him  the  true  reciprocal  gifts.  Towards 
lier,  he  acknowledged  himself  to  be  drawn  by  an  interest  much 
stronger  than  that  of  intellect — an  interest  which  might  grow, 
if  he  allowed  it,  into  love.  The  more  he  saw  or  learned  of 
ihis  woman,  the  more  admirably  pure  and  noble  his  he.irt 
acknowledged  her  to  be.  He  had  come  to  look  Qpon  her  errors 
with  a  gentle  pity,  which  taught  him  to  avoid  assailing  them, 
whenever  the  assault  might  give  her  pain.  Was  the  hard, 
exacting  manner  in  which  she  claimed  delusive  rights- -not, 
mdeed,  specially  for  herself,  but  for  all  her  sex — the  resu-t  of 
her  position  as  a  champion  of  those  rights,  or  was  it  an  inte 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFB.  8(8 

gral  part  of  herself?  This  was  the  one  important  question 
which  it  behooved  him  to  solve.  To  what  extent  was  the  falsa 
nature  superimposed  upon  the  true  woman  beneath  it  ? 

Supposing,  even,  that  he  should  come  to  love  her,  and,  im* 
probable  as  it  might  seem,  should  awaken  an  answering  love 
m  her  heart,  would  she  unite  her  fate,  unconditionaUy^  to  his  ? 
Would  she  not  demand,  in  advance,  security  for  some  unheard- 
of  domestic  liberty,  as  a  partial  compensation  for  the  legal 
rights  which  were  still  withheld  ?  One  of  her  fellow-champi- 
onesses  had  recently  married,  and  had  insisted  on  retaining  her 
maiden  name.  He  had  read,  in  the  newspapers,  a  contract 
drawn  up  and  signed  by  the  two,  which  had  disgusted  him  by 
its  cold  business  character.  He  shuddered  as  the  idea  of 
Hannah  Thurston  presenting  a  similar  contract  for  his  signa- 
ture, crossed  his  mind.  "  No !"  he  cried,  starting  up :  "  it  is 
incredible !"  Nothing  in  all  his  intercourse  with  her  sug- 
gested such  a  suspicion.  Even  in  the  grave  dignity  of  her 
manner  she  was  entirely  woman.  The  occasional  harshness 
of  judgment  or  strength  of  prejudice  which  repe^ed  him,  were 
faults,  indeed,  but  faults  that  would  melt  away  in  the  light  of 
a  better  knowledge  of  herself.  She  was  at  present  in  a  posi- 
tion of  fancied  antagonism,  perhaps  not  wholly  by  her  own 
action.  The  few  men  who  agreed  with  her  gave  her  false  ideas 
of  theii-  own  sex :  the  others  whom  she  knew  misunderstood 
and  misrepresented  her.  She  thus  stood  alone,  bearing  the 
burden  of  aspirations,  which,  however  extravagant,  were  splen- 
didly earnest  and  unselfish. 

Mrs.  Blake's  words  came  back  to  Woodbury's  memory  and 
awakened  a  vague  confidence  in  his  own  hopes.  She  was  too 
clear-eyed  a  woman  to  be  easily  mistaken  in  regard  to  one  of 
her  sex.  Her  bantering  proposition  might  have  been  intended 
to  convey  a  serious  counsel.  "  A  strong  woman  can  only  be 
overcome  by  superior  strength."  But  how  should  this  strength 
(supposing  he  possessed  it)  be  exercised  ?  Should  he  crush 
her  masculine  claims  under  a  weight  of  argument  ?  Impossi- 
ble: if  she  were  to  be  convinced  at  all,  it  must  be  by  the 


364  HANNAH   THURSTOK  : 

knowledge  that  comes  through  love.  There  was  another  form 
of  strength,  he  thought — a  conquering  reiagnetism  of  presence, 
H  force  of  longing  which  supplants  will,  a  warmth  of  passion 
which  disarms  resistance — but  such  strength,  again,  is  simply 
Love,  and  he  must  love  before  he  could  exercise  it.  The  ques- 
tion, therefore,  was  at  last  narrowed  to  this  :  should  he  cherish 
the  interest  he  already  felt  until  it  grew  to  the  passion  he  pre- 
figured, and  leave  to  fate  its  return,  free  as  became  a  woman 
or  fettered  with  suspicious  provisions? 

This,  however,  was  a  question  not  so  easy  to  decide.  Wero 
he  sure  of  exciting  a  reciprocal  interest,  the  venture,  he  felt, 
would  be  justified  to  his  own  heart;  but  nothing  in  her  man- 
ner  led  him  to  suspect  that  she  more  than  tolerated  him — in 
distinction  to  her  former  hostile  attitude — and  there  is  no  man 
of  gentle  nature  but  shrinks  from  the  possibility  of  a  failure. 
*'  Ah,"  said  he,  '*  I  am  not  so  young  as  I  thought.  A  young 
man  would  not  stop  to  consider,  and  doubt,  and  weigh  proba- 
bilities. If  I  fail,  my  secret  is  in  sacred  keeping ;  if  I  win,  I 
must  win  every  thing.  Am  I  not  trying  to  keep  up  a  youthful 
faculty  of  self-illusion  which  is  lost  forever,  by  demanding  an 
Ideal  perfection  in  woman  ?  No,  no !  I  must  cease  to  cheat 
myself:  I  must  not  demand  a  warmer  flame  than  I  can  give." 

Sometimes  he  attempted  to  thrust  the  subject  from  hia 
mind.  The  deliberations  in  which  he  had  indulged  seemed  to 
him  cold,  material,  and  unworthy  the  sanction  of  love.  They 
had  the  effect,  however,  of  making  Hannah  Thurston's  imago 
an  abiding  guest  in  his  thoughts,  and  the  very  familiarity  with 
his  own  doubts  rendered  them  less  formidable  than  at  first.  A 
life  crowned  with  the  bliss  he  passionately  desired,  might  re- 
ward the  trial.  K  it  failed,  his  future  could  not  be  more  bar- 
ren and  lonely  than  it  now  loomed  before  him :  how  barren, 
how  lonely,  every  sight  of  Bute's  face  constantly  resuggested. 

The  end  of  it  all  was  a  determination  to  seek  Hannah 
Thurston's  society — to  court  a  friendly  intimacy,  in  which  h» 
should  not  allow  his  heart  to  be  compromised.  So  far  he 
niiglit  go  with  safely  to  himself,  and  in  no  case,  according  to 


A   6T0BT   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  ^56 

his  views,  could  there  be  danger  to  her.  His  acquaintance 
with  the  widow,  which  had  been  kept  up  by  an  occasional 
brief  visit,  and  the  present  condition  of  the  latter's  health,  gave 
him  aU  the  opportunity  he  needed.  The  Catawba  grapes  were 
already  ripening  on  the  trellises  at  Lakeside,  and  he  would 
take  the  earliest  bunches  to  the  widow's  cottage. 

The  impression,  in  Ptolemy  society,  of  a  strong  antagonism 
between  himself  and  Hannah  Thurston,  was  very  general. 
Even  Mrs.  Waldo,  whose  opportunities  of  seeing  both  were 
best  of  all,  fancied  that  their  more  cordial  demeanor  towards 
each  other,  in  their  later  interviews,  was  only  a  tacitly  under- 
Btood  armistice.  Woodbury  was  aware  of  this  impression,  and 
determined  not  to  contradict  it  for  the  present. 

Thus,  tormented  from  without  and  within,  impelled  by  an 
outcry  of  his  nature  that  would  not  be  silenced,  without  con- 
sciousness of  love,  he  took  the  first  step,  knowing  that  it  might 
lead  him  to  love  a  woman  whose  ideas  were  repugnant  to  aU 
his  dreams  of  marriage  and  of  domestic  peace. 


8ft6  BAXNAH   THURSTOir: 


CHAPTER  XXVm. 

nr   WHICH   HANKAH  THTTEISTON,    ALSO,   HAS   HEB   TROUBLBi. 

When  Woodbury  made  his  first  appearance  at  the  cottage, 
the  Widow  Thurston,  who  had  not  seen  him  since  his  return 
fiom  the  Lakes,  frankly  expressed  her  pleasure  in  his  society. 
It  was  one  of  her  favorable  days,  and  she  was  sitting  in  her 
well-cushioned  rocking-chair,  with  her  feet  upon  a  stool.  She 
had  grown  frightfully  thin  and  pale  during  the  summer,  but 
the  lines  of  physical  pain  had  almost  entirely  passed  away 
from  her  face.  Her  expression  denoted  great  weakness  and 
languor.  The  calm,  resigned  spirit  which  reigned  in  her  eyes 
was  only  troubled,  at  times,  when  they  rested  on  her  daughter. 
She  had  concealed  from  the  latter,  as  much  as  possible,  the 
swiftness  with  which  her  vital  force  was  diminishing,  lest  she 
should  increase  the  care  and  anxiety  which  was  beginning  to 
tell  upon  her  health.  She  knew  that  the  end  was  not  far  off: 
she  could  measure  its  approach,  and  she  acknowledged  in  her 
heart  how  welcome  it  would  be,  but  for  her  daughter's  sake. 

"  It's  very  kind  of  thee  to  come.  Friend  Woodbury,"  said 
she.     "  I've  been  expecting  thee  before." 

"lourht  to  have  come  sooner,"  said  he,  "but  there  have 
been  changes  at  Lakeside." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  The  two  guests  that  will  not  be  kept  out 
have  come  to  thy  home,  as  they  come  to  the  homes  of  otliers. 
We  must  be  ready  for  either.     The  Lord  sends  them  both." 

"  Yes,"  said  Woodbury,  with  a  sigh,  "  but  one  of  them  is 
long  in  coming  to  me."  The  sweet  serenity  and  truth  of  tho 
old  woman's  words  evoked  a  true  reply.  All  that  she  said 
oame  from  a  he:irt  too  sincere  for  disguise,  and  spoke  to  hii 


A   STORY   OF  AMERICAN   LIFE.  357 

nndisguised  self.    There  would  have  been  sometbing  approach- 
ing to  sacrilege  in  an  equivocal  answer. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sad,  serious  inquiry  in  her  glance. 
"I  see  thee's  not  hasty  to  open  thy  doors,"  she  said,  at 
last,  "  and  it's  well.  There's  always  a  blessing  in  store  for 
them  that  wait.  I  pray  that  it  may  come  to  thee  in  the  Lord's 
good  time." 

"  Amen  !"  he  exclaimed,  earnestly.  An  irresistible  impulse) 
the  next  moment,  led  him  to  look  at  Hannah  Thurston.  She 
was  setting  in  order  the  plants  on  the  little  flower-stand  before 
the  window,  and  her  face  was  turned  away  from  him,  but  there 
\i  as  an  indefinable  intentness  in  her  attitude  which  told  him 
tnat  no  word  had  escaped  her  ears. 

Prdently  she  seated  herself,  and  took  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion, which  turned  mainly  upon  Bute  and  his  wife.  The  light 
from  the  south  window  fell  upon  her  face,  and  Woodbury 
noticed  that  it  had  grown  somewhat  thinner  and  wore  a  weary 
anxious  expression.  A  pale  violet  shade  had  settled  under  the 
dark-gray  eyes  and  the  long  lashes  drooped  their  fringes.  No 
latent  defiance  lurked  in  her  features :  her  manner  was  grave, 
almost  to  sadness,  and  in  her  voice  there  was  a  gentle  languor, 
like  that  which  follows  mental  exhaustion. 

In  all  their  previous  interviews,  Woodbury  had  never  been 
able  entirely  to  banish  from  his  mind  the  consciousness  of  her 
exceptional  position,  as  a  woman.  It  had  tinged,  without  his 
having  suspected  the  fact,  his  demeanor  towards  her.  Some 
thing  of  the  asserted  independence  of  man  to  man  had  modi- 
fied the  deferential  gentleness  of  man  to  woman.  She  had, 
perhaps,  felt  this  without  being  able  to  define  it,  for,  though 
he  had  extorted  her  profound  respect  he  had  awakened  in  her 
a  disposition  scarcely  warmer  than  she  gave  to  abstract  quali- 
ties. Now,  however,  she  presented  herself  to  him  under  a 
difierent  aspect.  He  forgot  her  masculine  aspirations,  seeing 
in  her  only  the  faithful,  anxious  daughter,  over  whom  the 
shadow  of  her  approaching  loss  deepened  from  day  to  day. 
The  former  chill  of  his  j_M-eseuce  did  not  return,  but  in  its  place 


868  HANNAH  THURSTON  . 

a  subtle  warmth  seemed  to  radiate  from  him.  Before,  his 
words  had  excited  lier  intellect :  now,  they  addressed  them- 
selves to  her  feelings.  As  the  conversation  advanced,  she  re- 
covered her  usual  animation,  yet  still  preserved  the  purely 
feminine  character  which  he  had  addressed  in  her.  The  posi- 
tions which  they  hud  previously  occupied  were  temporarily 
(brgotten,  and  at  parting  each  vaguely  felt  the  existence  ol 
unsuspected  qualities  in  the  other. 

During  this  first  visit,  Hannah  Thurston  indulged  without 
reserve,  in  the  satisfaction  which  it  gave  to  her.  She  always 
found  it  far  more  agreeable  to  like  than  to  dislike.  Wood- 
bury's lack  of  that  enthusiasm  which  in  her  soul  was  an  ever 
burning  and  mounting  fire — his  cold,  dispassionate  power  of 
judgment — his  tolerance  of  what  she  considered  perverted 
habits  of  the  most  reprehensible  character,  and  his  indifference 
to  those  wants  and  wrongs  of  the  race  which  continually  appeal- 
ed to  the  Reformer's  aid,  had  at  first  given  her  the  impression 
that  the  basis  of  his  character  was  hard  and  selfish.  She  had 
since  modified  this  view,  granting  him  the  high  attributes  of 
truth  and  charity ;  she  had  witnessed  the  manifestation  of  hia 
physical  and  moral  courage ;  but  his  individuality  still  pre> 
served  a  cold,  statuesque  beauty.  His  mastery  over  himself, 
she  supposed,  extended  to  his  intellectual  passions  and  his 
affections.  He  would  only  be  swayed  by  them  so  far  as 
seemed  to  him  rational  and  convenient. 

His  words  to  her  mother  recalled  to  hei  mind,  she  knew 
not  why,  the  description  of  her  own  father's  death.  It  was 
possible  that  an  equal  capacity  for  passion  might  here  again  be 
hidden  under  a  cold,  immovable  manner.  She  had  sounded, 
U>lerably  well,  the  natures  of  the  men  of  whom  she  had  seen 
most,  during  tlie  past  six  or  eight  years,  ard  had  found  that 
their  own  unreserved  protestations  of  feeling  were  the  measure 
of  their  capacity  to  feel.  There  was  no  necessity,  indeed,  to 
throw  a  plummet  into  their  streams,  for  they  had  egotistically 
Bet  up  their  own  Nilometers,  and  the  depth  of  the  current 
was  indicated  at  the  surface.     She  began  to  suspect,  now,  that 


▲   BTORY    OF   AMERICAN   LTFB.  359 

she  had  been  mistaken  in  judging  Woodbury  by  the  same  test 
The  thought,  welcome  as  it  was  from  a  broad,  humane  point 
of  view,  nevertheless  almost  involved  a  personal  humiliation. 
fler  strong  sense  of  justice  commanded  her  to  rectify  the  mis 
take    while  her  recognition  of  it  weakened  her  faith  in  h*iT 

In  a  few  days  Woodbury  came  again,  and  as  before,  on  an 
rraud  of  kindness  to  her  mother.  She  saw  that  his  visits  gave 
pleasuie  to  the  latter,  and  for  that  reason  alone  it  was  her  duty 
to  desire  them,  but  on  this  occasion  she  detected  an  indepena- 
ent  pleasure  of  her  own  at  his  appearance.  A  certain  friendly 
familiarity  seemed  to  be  already  established  between  them. 
She  had  been  drawn  into  it,  she  scarcely  knew  how,  and  could 
not  now  withdraw,  yet  the  consciousness  of  it  began  to  agitate 
her  in  a  singular  way.  A  new  power  came  from  Woodbury's 
presence,  sun-ounded  and  assailed  her.  It  was  not  the  chill  of 
his  unexcitable  intellect,  stinging  her  into  a  half-indignant  re- 
sistance. It  was  a  warm,  seductive,  indefinable  magnetism, 
which  inspired  her  with  a  feeling  very  much  like  terror.  Its 
weight  lay  upon  lier  for  hours  after  he  had  gone.  Whatever 
it  was,  its  source,  she  feared,  nmst  lie  in  herself;  he  seemed 
utterly  unconscious  of  any  design  to  produce  a  particular  im- 
pression upon  her.  His  manner  was  as  frank  and  natural  as 
ever :  he  conversed  about  ttie  l)ooks  which  he  or  she  had  re- 
cently read,  or  on  subjec-ts  of  general  interest,  addressing  much 
of  his  discourse  to  lier  mother  rather  than  herself.  She  no 
ticed,  indeed,  that  he  made  no  reference  to  the  one  question 
on  which  they  differed  so  radically ;  but  a  little  reflection 
showed  her  that  he  had  in  no  former  case  commenced  the  dis- 
cussion, nor  had  he  ever  been  inchned  to  prolong  it  when 
started. 

Their  talk  turned  for  a  while  on  the  poets.  Hannah  Thurs 
ton  had  but  slight  acquaintance  with  Tennyson,  who  was 
Woodbury's  favorite  among  living  English  authors,  and  he 
promised  to  bring  her  the  book.  He  repeated  the  stanzas  de- 
scriptive  of   Jeplitha's   Daughter,  in   the  "Dream   of   Fail 


860  HANNAH   THURSTON  . 

Women,"  the  majestic  rhythm  and  superb  Hebrew  spirit  of 
which  not  only  charmed  her,  but  her  mother  also.  The  old 
woman  had  a  natural,  though  very  uncultivated  taste  for 
poetry.  She  enjoyed  nothing  which  was  purely  imaginative : 
verse,  for  her,  must  have  a  devotional,  or  at  least  an  ethical 
character.  In  rhythm,  also  her  appreciation  was  limited.  She 
delighted  most  in  the  stately  march  of  the  heroic  measure,  and 
next  to  that,  in  the  impetuous  rush  of  the  dactylic.  In  youti. 
her  favorite  poems  had  been  the  "  Davidis"  of  Thomas  El  wood, 
Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man,"  and  the  lamenting  sing-song  of  Re- 
fine Weeks,  a  Nantucket  poet,  whom  history  has  forgotten 
The  greater  part  of  these  works  she  knew  by  heart,  and  would 
often  repeat  in  a  monotonous  chant,  resembling  that  in  which 
she  had  formerly  preached.  Hannah,  however,  had  of  late 
years  somewhat  improved  her  mother's  taste  by  the  careful 
selection  of  poetry  of  a  better  character,  especially  Milton's 
"  Christmas  Hymn,"  and  the  works  of  Thomson  and  Cow- 
per. 

Woodbury  returned  the  very  next  day,  bringing  the  prom- 
ised volumes.  He  was  about  to  leave  immediately,  but  the 
widow  insisted  on  his  remaining. 

"  Do  sit  down  a  while,  won't  thee  ?"  said  she.  "  I  wish  thee 
would  read  me  something  else :  I  like  to  hear  thy  voice." 

Woodbury  could  not  refuse  to  comply.  He  sat  down, 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  first  volume,  and  finally  selected 
the  lovely  idyll  of  "  Dora,"  which  he  read  with  a  pure,  dis- 
tinct enunciation.  Hannah  Thurston,  busy  with  her  sewmg  at 
a  little  stand  near  the  eastern  window,  listened  intently.  At 
the  close  she  turned  towards  him  with  softened  eyes,  and  ex- 
claimed: "How  simple!  how  beautiful !" 

"  I'm  greatly  obliged  tv  thee,  Maxwell,"  said  the  widow, 
addressing  Woodbury  for  the  first  time  by  his  ^miliar  name. 
*'  It  is  always  pleasant,"  she  added,  smiling,  "  to  an  old 
woman,  to  receive  a  kindness  from  a  young  man." 

■'  But  it  ouglit  to  be  the  young  man's  pleasure,  as  it  is  hia 
duly,  to  2ri\  <?  it,"  he  answered.     "  I  am  glad  that  you  like  my 


▲  STOKY    OF   AMEBIOAN   LIFE  361 

fevcrite  author.  I  have  brought  along  'Tlie  Princess,  also, 
Miss  Thurston  :  you  have  certainly  heard  of  it-?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  gaid  she,  "  I  saw  several  critical  notices  of  it 
when  it  was  first  pubhshed,  and  have  always  wished  to 
read  it." 

**  It  gives  a  poetical  view  of  a  subject  we  have  sometimefi 
discussed,"  he  added  playfully,  "  and  I  am  not  quite  sure  that 
you  will  be  satisfied  with  the  close.  It  should  not  be  read, 
however,  as  a  serious  argument  on  either  side.  Tennyson,  I 
suspect,  chose  the  subject  for  its  picturesque  effects,  rather 
than  from  any  intentional  moral  purpose.  I  confess  I  think  he 
is  right.  "We  may  find  sermons  in  poems  as  we  find  them  in 
stones,  but  one  should  be  as  unconscious  of  the  fact  as  the 
other.  It  seems  to  me  that  all  poetry  which  the  author  de- 
signs, in  advance,  to  be  excessively  moral  or  pious,  is  more  or 
less  a  failure." 

"  Mr.  Woodbury  !  Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  exclaimed 
Hannah  Thurston,  in  surprise. 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  idea  is  not  original  with  me.  I  picked  it  up 
somewhere,  and  finding  it  true,  adopted  it  as  my  own.  There 
was  a  fanciful  illustration,  if  I  recollect  rightly — that  poetry  is 
the  blossom  of  Literature,  not  the  fruit ;  therefore  that  while 
it  suggests  the  fruit — while  its  very  odor  foretells  the  future 
flavor — it  must  be  content  to  be  a  blossom  and  nothing  more. 
The  meaning  was  this  :  that  a  moral  may  breathe  through  a 
poem  from  beginning  to  end,  but  must  not  be  plumply  ex- 
pressed. I  don't  know  the  laws  which  govern  the  minds  of 
poets,  but  I  know  when  tliey  give  me  most  pleasure.  Apply 
the  test  to  yourself:  I  sliall  be  interested  to  know  the  result. 
Here,  for  instance,  is  '  The  Princess,'  which,  if  it  has  a  par- 
rlcular  moral,  has  one  which  you  may  possibly  reject,  but  I  am 
sare  your  enjoyment  of  pure  poetry  will  not  thereby  be 
lossened." 

"I  shall  certainly  read  the  book  with  all  the  more  interest 
from  what  you  have  said,"  she  frankly  replied.  "  You  have 
very  much  more  literary  cultivation  than  T,  and  perhaps  h  »s 
16 


862  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

presumptuous  in  me  to  dispute  your  opinion  ;  but  my  natun 
leads  me  to  honor  an  earnest  feeling  for  truth  and  humanity, 
even  when  its  expression  is  not  in  accordance  with  literarj 
laws." 

"  I  honor  such  a  feeling  also,  whenever  it  is  genuine,  how 
ever  expressed,"  Woodbury  answered,  "but  I  make  a  dis 
tinction  between  the  feeling  and  the  expression.  In  other 
w<»rds,  the  cook  may  have  an  admirable  character,  and  yet  the 
roast  may  be  spoiled.  Pollok  is  considered  orthodox  and 
IJyron  heretical,  but  I  am  sure  you  prefer  the  'Hebrew  Melo- 
dies' to  the  •'  Course  of  Time.' " 

"  Hannah,  I  guess  thee'd  better  read  the  book  first,"  said 
the  widow,  who  did  not  perceive  how  the  conversation  had 
drifted  away  from  its  subject.  "  It  is  all  the  better,  perhaps, 
if  our  friend  differs  a  little  from  thee.  When  we  agree  in 
every  thing,  we  don't  learn  much  from  one  another." 

"  You  are  quite  right.  Friend  Thurston,"  said  Woodbury, 
rising.  "  I  should  be  mistaken  in  your  daughter  if  she  ac- 
cepted any  opinion  of  mine,  without  first  satisfying  her  own 
mind  of  its  truth.     Good-by  !" 

He  took  the  widow's  hand  with  a  courteous  respect,  and 
then  extended  his  own  to  Hannah.  Hers  he  heldgently  for  a  mo- 
ment while  he  said  :  "  Remember,  I  shall  want  to  know  what 
impression  the  poem  makes  on  your  mind.     Will  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Thank  you.     I  will  tell  you,"  she  said. 

Strange  to  say,  the  boldest  eulogiums  which  had  ever  reached 
Hannah  Thurston's  ears,  never  came  to  them  with  so  sweet  a 
welcome  as  Woodbury's  parting  compliment.  Nay,  it  wa« 
scarcely  a  compliment  at  all ;  it  was  a  simple  recognition  of 
that  earnest  seeking  for  truth  which  she  never  hesitated  to 
claim  for  herself.  Perhaps  it  was  his  supposed  hostile  attitude 
whioh  gave  the  words  their  value,  for  our  enemies  always  have 
us  at  a  disadvantage  when  they  begin  to  praise  us.  Politicians 
go  into  obscurity,  and  statesmen  fall  from  their  high  places, 
ruined,  not  by  the  assaults  but  by  the  flatteries  of  the  opposite 
oarty. 


A    STORY   OF   AMERICAN   LIFE,  363 

She  could  no  longer  consider  Woodbury  in  the  light  of  an 
enemy.  Ilis  presence,  his  words,  his  self-possessed  manner 
failed  to  excite  the  old  antagonism,  which  always  marred  hv;> 
intellectual  pleasure  in  his  society.  One  by  one  ihe  iiscord 
ant  elements  in  her  own  nature  seemed  to  be  withdrawn,  oi 
rather,  she  feared,  were  benumbed  by  some  new  power  whioL 
be  was  beginning  to  manifest.  She  found,  with  dismay,  thai 
instead  of  seeking,  as  formerly,  for  weapons  to  combat  his 
views,  her  mind  rather  inclined  to  the  discovery  of  reasons  for 
agreeing  with  them.  It  mattered  little,  perhaps,  which  course 
she  adopted,  so  long  as  the  result  was  Truth  ;  but  the  fact  that 
she  recognized  the  change  as  agreeable  gave  her  uneasiness. 
It  might  be  the  commencement  of  a  process  of  mental  sub- 
jection— the  first  meshes  of  a  net  of  crafty  reasoning,  designed 
to  ensnare  her  judgment  and  lead  her  aw^ay  from  the  high  aims 
she  prized.  Then,  on  the  other  hand,  she  reflected  that  such 
a  process  presupposed  intention  on  Woodbury's  part,  and 
how  could  she  reconcile  it  with  his  manly  honesty,  his  open 
integrity  of  character  ?  Thus,  the  more  enjoyment  his  visits 
gave  her  while  they  lasted,  the  greater  the  disturbance  which 
they  left  behind. 

That  new  and  indescribable  effluence  which  his  presence  gave 
forth  not  only  continued,  but  seemed  to  increase  in  power. 
Sometimes  it  affected  her  with  a  singular  mixture  of  fascination 
and  terror,  creating  a  physical  restlessness  which  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  subdue.  An  oppressive  weight  lay  upon  her 
breast;  her  hands  burned,  and  the  nerves  in  every  limb  trem- 
bled w^ith  a  strange  impulse  to  start  up  and  fly.  Wlien,  at  night, 
in  the  seclusion  oT  her  chamber,  she  recalled  this  condition,  her 
cheeks  grew  hot  with  angry  shame  of  herself,  and  she  clenched 
her  hands  with  the  determination  to  resist  the  return  of  such 
weakness.  But  even  as  she  did  so,  she  felt  that  her  power  of 
will  had  undergone  a  change.  An  insidious,  corrosive  doubl 
seemed  to  have  crept  over  the  foundations  of  her  mental  life: 
the  forms  of  faith,  once  firm  and  fair  as  Ionic  pillars  imder  the 
oloudless  heaven,  rocked  and  tottered  as  if  with  the  first  vac 


864  HANNAH   THURSTON : 

nacing  throes  of  an  eartliquake.  When  she  recalled  ter  pasi 
labors  for  the  sacred  cause  of  Woman,  a  mocking  demon  now 
and  then  whispered  to  her  that  even  in  good  there  were  the 
seeds  of  harm,  and  that  she  had  estimated,  in  vanity,  the  fruitf 
of  htr  ministry.  "God  give  me  strength!"  she  whispered— 
"  strength  to  conquer  doubt,  strength  to  keep  the  truth  for 
w  Inch  I  have  lived  and  which  must  soon  be  ray  only  life, 
strength  to  rise  out  of  a  shameful  weakness  which  I  cannot 
•mderstand !" 

Then,  ere  she  slept,  a  hope  to  which  she  desperately  clung, 
came  to  smooth  her  uneasy  pillow.  Her  own  future  life  must 
differ  from  her  present.  The  hour  was  not  far  off,  she  knew, 
when  her  quiet  years  in  the  cottage  must  come  to  an  end. 
She  could  not  shut  her  eyes  to  i!ie  fact  that  her  mother's  time 
on  earth  was  short ;  and  short  as  it  was,  she  would  not  cloud 
it  by  anxiety  for  the  lonely  existence  beyond  it.  She  resolute- 
ly thrust  her  own  future  from  her  mind,  but  it  was  nevertheless 
always  present  in  a  vague,  hovering  form.  The  uncertainty  of 
tier  fate,  she  now  thought, — the  dread  anticipation  of  coming 
sorrow — had  shaken  and  unnerved  her.  No  doubt  her  old, 
steadfast  self  reliance  and  solf-confidence  would  assert  them- 
selves, after  the  period  of  trial  had  been  passed.  She  must  only 
have  patience,  for  the  doubts  which  she  could  not  now  answer 
would  then  surely  be  solved.  With  this  consolation  at  her 
heart — with  a  determination  to  possess  patience^  which  she 
found  mucli  more  easy  than  the  attempt  to  possess  herself  of 
will,  she  would  close  her  aching  eyes  and  court  the  refreshing 
oblivion  of  sleep. 

But  sleep  did  not  always  come  at  her  call.  That  idea  of 
tlie  sad,  solitary  future,  so  near  at  hand,  would  not  be  exor- 
'ised.  If  she  repelled  it,  it  came  back  again  in  company  with 
a  still  more  terrible  ghost  of  the  Past — ^her  early  but  now 
liopfcless  dream  of  love.  When  she  tried  to  call  that  dream  a 
delusion,  all  the  forces  of  her  nature  gave  her  the  lie — all  the 
iiores  of  her  heart,  trembling  in  divinest  harmony  under  the 
touch  of  the  tormenting  angel,  betrayed  her,  despairingly,  to 


A   STOKY    OF    AArKRTCAX  LIFB.  365 

her  own  self.  The  crown  of  independence  which  she  had  won 
bruised  her  brows ;  the  throne  which  she  clainied  was  carved 
of  ice ;  tlie  hands  of  her  sister  women,  toiling  in  the  same 
path,  were  grateful  in  their  help,  but  no  positive  pulse  of 
strength  throbbed  from  them  to  her  heart.  The  arm  whicl 
ilone  could  stay  her  must  have  firmer  muscle  than  a  woman's 
it  must  uphold  as  well  as  clasp.  Why  did  Heaven  give  her 
the  dream  when  it  must  be  forever  vain?  Where  was  the 
man  at  the  same  time  tender  enough  to  love,  strong  enough  to 
protect  and  assist,  and  just  enough  to  acknowiedg«'-  the  equal 
rights  of  woman  ?  Alas !  nowhere  in  tb<  world.  She  could 
not  figure  to  herself  his  features ;  he  was  a  far-oft  anattaiiia- 
ble  idea,  only;  but  a  secret  whisper,  deep  in  th_^  ^.a-'-edest 
shrine  of  her  soul,  told  her  that  if  he  indeed  exi>-''.!,  if  he 
should  find  his  way  to  her,  if  the  pillow  under  her  cli'.-ek  m  ere 
his  breast,  if  his  arms  held  her  fast  in  the  happy  subjection 
of  love — but  no,  the  picture  was  not  to  be  endured.  It  was 
a  bliss,  more  terrible  in  its  hopelessness,  than  the  most  awfui 
grief  in  its  certainty.  She  shuddered  and  clasped  her  hands 
crushingly  together,  as  with  the  strength  of  desperation,  she 
drove  it  from  her  bosom. 

Had  her  life  been  less  secluded,  the  traces  of  her  internal 
struggles  must  have  been  detected  by  others.  Her  mother, 
indeed,  noticed  an  unusual  restlessness  in  her  manner,  but  at- 
tributed it  to  care  for  her  own  condition.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  Mrs.  Waldo,  they  saw  but  few  persons  habitually. 
.Miss  Sophia  Stevenson  or  even  Mrs.  Lemuel  Styles  occasionally 
oalleil,  and  the  widow  always  made  use  of  these  occasions  to 
tersuade  Haimah  to  restore  herself  by  a  walk  in  the  open  air. 
V\''hcn  the  former  found  that  their  visits  were  thus  put  to  good 
service,  they  benevolently  agreed  to  come  regularly.  The 
relief  she  thus  obtained,  in  a  double  sense,  cheered  and  invig- 
orated Hannah  Thurston.  Her  favorite  walk,  out  the  MulTl 
gansville  road,  to  the  meadows  of  East  Atauga  Creek,  took 
her  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  from  the  primly  fenced  lots  and 
stiff  houses  of  the  villao-e    to   the   blossoming  banks  of  th« 


30(1  HANNAH   TIIURSTOJf: 

w;nding  strf.am,  to  the  sweet  breath  of  the  scented  grass,  and 
the  tangled  thickets  of  alder,  over  which  bittersweet  and 
clematis  ran  riot  and  strove  for  the  monopoly  of  support, 
Here,  all  her  vague  mental  troubles  died  away  like  the  memory 
of  an  oppressive  dream  ;  she  drew  resignation  from  every  as- 
pect of  Nature,  and  confidence  in  herself  from  the  crowding 
associations  of  the   Past  which  the  landscape  inspired. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  of  course,  soon  became  aware  of  Woodbury's  fre* 
(juent  visits.  He  had  made  no  secret  of  them,  as  he  always  called 
at  the  Parsonage  at  the  same  time,  and  she  had  shared  equally 
in  the  ripening  vintage  of  Lakeside.  But  he  had  spoken  much 
more  of  the  Widow  Thurston  than  of  her  daughter,  and  the 
former  had  been  equally  free  in  expressing  her  pleasure  at  his 
visits,  so  that  Mrs.  Waldo  never  doubted  the  continuance  of 
the  old  antagonism  between  Hannah  and  Woodbury.  Their 
reciprocal  silence  in  relation  to  each  other  confirmed  her  in 
this  supposition.  She  was  sincerely  vexed  at  a  dislike  which 
seemed  not  only  unreasonable,  but  unnatural,  and  grew  so  im- 
patient at  the  delayed  conciliation  that  she  finally  spoke  her 
mind  on  the  subject. 

"  Well,  Hannah,"  she  said,  one  day,  when  Woodbury's 
namp  had  been  incidentally  mentioned,  "  I  really  think  it  is  time 
that  you  and  he  should  practise  a  little  charity  towards  each 
other.  I've  been  waiting,  and  waiting,  to  see  your  prejudices 
begin  to  wear  away,  now  that  you  know  him  better.  You 
can't  think  how  it  worries  me  that  two  of  my  best  friends, 
who  are  so  right  and  sensible  in  all  other  acts  of  their  lives, 
ehoidd  be  so  stubbornly  set  against  each  other." 

"  Prejudices  ?  Does  he  think  I  am  stubbornly  set  against 
him  ? "  Hannah  Thurston  cried,  the  warm  color  mounting  into 
ter  face. 

"  Not  he  !  He  says  nothing  about  you,  and  that's  the  worst 
of  it.  You  say  nothing  about  him,  either.  But  anybody  can 
Fee  it.  There,  I've  vexed  you,  and  I  suppose  I  ought  not  to 
have  opened  my  mouth,  but  I  love  you  so  dearly,  Hannah — I 
love  him,  too,  as  a  dear  friend — and  I  can't   for  the  life  of  me 


A   STORY    OP    AMERTCAKT   LIFB.  36^ 

gee  why  you  are  blind  to  the  ti'uth  and  goodness  in  each  othet 
that  I  see  in  both  of  you." 

Here  Mrs.  Waldo  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her  cheek  as  a 
mother  might  have  done.  The  color  faded  from  Hannah 
Thurston's  face,  as  she  answered:  "I  know  you  are  a  dear, 
j»ood  friend,  and  as  such  you  cannot  vex  me.  I  do  not  know 
whether  you  have  mistaken  Mr.  Woodbmy's  feelings :  yon 
certainly  have  mistaken  mine.  I  did  his  character,  at  first,  in- 
justice, I  will  confess.  Perhaps  I  may  have  had  a  prejudice 
against  liim,  but  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  one  now.  I 
honoi  him  as  a  noble-minded,  just,  and  unselfish  man.  We 
have  different  views  of  life,  but  in  this  respect  he  has  taught 
me,  by  his  tolerance  towards  me,  to  be  at  least  equally  tolerant 
towards  him." 

"  You  make  me  happy !"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  in  unfei^aed 
delight ;  but  the  next  instant  she  added,  with  a  sigh :  "  But,  in 
spite  of  all,  you  don't  seem  to  me  like  friends." 

This  explanation  added  another  trouble  to  Hannah  Thurs- 
ton's mind.  It  was  very  possible  that  Woodbury  suspected 
her  of  cherishing  an  unfriendly  prejudice  against  him.  She 
had  assuredly  given  him  cause  for  such  a  suspicion,  and  if  the 
one  woman  in  Ptolemy,  who,  after  her  mother,  knew  her  best, 
had  received  this  impression,  it  would  not  be  strange  if  he 
shared  it.  In  such  case,  what  gentle  cofisideration,  what  for- 
giving kindness  had  he  not  exhibited  towards  her?  What 
other  man  of  her  acquaintance  would  have  acted  with  the  same 
magnanimity?  Was  it  not  her  duty  to  undeceive  him — not 
by  words,  but  by  meeting  him  frankly  and  gratefully — by  ex 
hibiting  to  him,  in  some  indirect  way,  her  confidence  in  1  is 
nobility  of  character? 

Thus,  ?very  thing  conspired  to  make  him  the  centre  of  her 
thouohts,  and  the  more  she  struggled  to  regain  her  freedom, 
the  more  helplessly  she  entangled  herself  in  the  web  which  hi« 
presence  had  spun  aiound  her. 


86f  HAmrAH  THUSSTOK: 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN   WHICH    A    CBISIS   APPROACHES. 

Onb  cannot  play  with  fire  without  burning  one's  fingera. 

Woodbury  supposed  that  he  was  pursuing  an  experiment, 
which  might  at  any  moment  be  relinquished,  long  after  a  deep 
and  irresistible  interest  in  its  object  had  taken  full  possession 
of  him.  Seeing  Hannah  Thurston  only  as  a  daughter — con- 
versing with  her  only  as  a  woman — her  other  character  ceased 
to  be  habitually  present  to  his  mind.  After  a  few  visits,  the 
question  which  he  asked  himself  was  not :  "  Will  I  be  able  to 
love  her  ?"  but :  "  Will  I  be  able  to  make  her  love  me  ?"  Of 
bis  own  abUity  to  answer  the  former  question  he  was  entirely 
satiijfied,  tliough  he  steadily  denied  to  himself  the  present  ex- 
istence of  passion.  He  acknowledged  that  her  attraction  for 
him  had  greatly  strengthened — that  he  detected  a  new  pleasure 
in  her  society — that  she  was  not  unfemininely  cold  and  hard, 
us  he  had  feared,  but  at  least  gentle  and  tender :  yet,  with  all 
this  knowledge,  there  came  no  passionate,  perturbing  thrill  to 
his  heart,  such  as  once  had  heralded  the  approach  of  ove.  She 
had  now  a  permanent  place  in  his  thoughts,  it  is  true :  he 
could  scarcely  have  shut  her  out,  if  he  had  wished  :  and  all 
the  now  knowledge  which  he  had  acquired  prompted  him  to 
f take  his  rising  hopes  upon  one  courageous  throw,  and  trust 
the  future,  if  he  gained  it,  to  the  deeper  and  truer  develop- 
ment of  her  nature  which  would  follow. 

At  the  next  visit  which  he  paid  to  the  cottage  after  Mrs. 
Waldo's  half-reproachful  corapluint,  the  friendly  warmth  with 
>\  hich  Hannah  Thurston  received  liim  sent  a  delicious  throb 
of  sweetness  to  his  heart.     Poor  Hannah  !     In  her  anxiety  to 


A    6T0BT   OF   AMBBICAN  LIFE.  369 

be  ^  ist,  sbe  had  totally  forgotten  what  her  treatment  of  Seth 
Wattles,  from  a  similar  impulse,  had  brought  u*pon  her.  She 
only  saw,  in  Woodbury's  face,  the  grateful  recognition  of  her 
manner  towards  him,  and  her  conscience  became  quiet  at  once 
The  key-note  struck  at  greeting  gave  its  character  to  the  inter 
fiew,  which  Woodbury  prolonged  much  beyond  his  usual 
oabit.  He  had  never  been  so  attractive,  but  at  the  same  time, 
Ms  presence  had  never  before  caused  her  such  vague  a  arm. 
All  the  cold  indifference,  which  she  had  once  imagined  to  be 
his  predominant  characteristic,  had  melted  like  a  snow-wreath 
in  the  sunshine :  a  soft,  warm,  pliant  grace  diffused  itself  over 
his  features  and  form,  and  a  happy  under-current  of  feeling 
made  itself  heard  in  his  lightest  words.  He  drew  her  genuine 
self  to  the  light,  before  she  suspected  how  much  she  had 
allowed  him  to  see :  she,  who  had  resolved  that  he  should  only 
know  her  in  her  strength,  had  made  a  voluntary  confession  of 
her  weakness ! 

Hannah  Thurston  was  proud  as  she  was  pure,  and  this  weird 
and  dangerous  power  in  the  man,  wounded  as  well  as  dis- 
turbed her.  She  felt  sure  that  he  exercised  it  unconsciously, 
and  therefore  he  was  not  to  be  blamed ;  but  it  assailed  her  in- 
dividual freedom — her  coveted  independence  of  other  minds-- 
none  the  less.  It  was  weakness  to  shrink  from  the  encounter: 
it  was  humiliation  to  acknowledge,  as  she  must,  that  her 
powers  of  resistance  diminished  with  each  attack. 

Woodbury  rode  home  tliat  evening  very  slowly.  For  the 
first  time  since  Bute's  marriage,  as  he  looked  across  the  mead- 
ows to  a  dusky  white  speck  that  glimmered  from  the  kuoll  in 
the  darkening  twilight,  there  was  no  pang  at  his  heart.  "I 
foresee,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  if  I  do  not  take  care,  I  shall 
love  this  girl  madly  and  passionately.  I  know  her  now  in  her 
true  tenderness  and  i:)urity  ;  I  see  what  a  wealth  of  woman- 
hood is  hidden  under  her  mistaken  aims.  But  is  she  not  too 
loftily  pure — too  ideal  in  her  aspirations — for  my  winning  ? 
Can  she  bear  the  knowledge  of  my  life  ?  I  cannot  spare  her 
the  test.  If  she  comes  to  me  at  last,  it  must  be  with  every 
16* 


370  HANNAH    THURSTON: 

veil  of  the  Past  lifted.  There  dare  be  no  mystery  between 
us—  no  skeleton  in  our  cupboard.  If  she  were  less  true,  lesa 
noble —but  no,  there  can  be  no  real  sacrament  of  marriagej 
without  previous  confession.  I  am  laying  the  basis  of  relationi 
chat  stretch  beyond  this  life.  It  would  be  a  greater  wrong  to 
shrink,  for  her  sake,  than  for  my  own.  It  must  come  to  this, 
and  God  give  her  strength  of  heart  equal  to  her  strength  of 
mind ! " 

Woodbury   felt   that   her  relation   to   him    had   changed,  and 
he  could  estimate,  very  nearly,  the  character  which  it  had  now 
assumed.      Of   hei    struggles    with   herself — of  the   painful   im- 
pression   which   his   visits    left   behind — he   had,  of  course,   no( 
the  slightest  presentiment.     He  knew,  however,  that  no  sus- 
picion of  his  feelings  bad   entered  her  breast,  and  he  had 
reasons  of  his  own  for  desiring  that  she  should  remain  inno- 
cent of  their  existence,  for  the  present.     His  plans,  here,  came 
to  an  end,  for  the  change  in  himself  interposed  an  anxiety 
which  obscured  his  thoughts.     He  had  reached  the  point  where 
all  calculation  fails,  and  where  the  strongest  man,  if  his  pas- 
sion  be   genuine,   must   place   his   destiny  in   the  hands  of 
Chance. 

But  there  is,  fortunately,  a  special  chance  provided  for  cases 
of  this  kind.  All  the  moods  of  Nature,  all  the  little  accidents 
of  life,  become  the  allies  of  love.  When  the  lover,  looking 
back  from  his  post  of  assured  fortune  over  the  steps  by  which 
he  attained  it,  thinks :  "  Had  it  not  been  for  such  or  such  a 
circunistraice,  I  might  have  wholly  missed  my  happiness,"  he 
does  not  recjgnize  that  all  the  powers  of  the  earth  and  air 
were  really  in  league  with  liiin — that  his  success  -was  not  the 
miracle  he  supposed,  but  that  his  failure  woidd  have  been.  It 
is  well,  however,  that  this  delusion  should  come  to  silence  the 
voice  of  piide,  and  temper  his  heart  with  a  grateful  humility  : 
for  him  it  is  necessary  that  "  fear  and  sorrow  fan  the  fire  of 
joy.; 

Woodbury  had  no  sooner  intrusted  to  Chance  the  further 
development  of  his  fate,  than  Chance  generously  requited  tha 


A    STOBT    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  87. 

tTUht.  It  was  certainly  a  wonderful  coincidence  ihat,  as  he 
walked  into  Ptolemy  on  a  golden  afternoon  in  late  September, 
quite  uncertain  whether  he  should  this  time  call  at  the  widow's 
cottage,  he  should  meet  Hannah  Thurston  on  foot,  just  at  the 
junction  of  the  Anacreon  and  MuUigansville  highways.  Il 
was  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson's  day  for  relieving  her,  and  she  had 
gone  out  for  her  accustomed  walk  up  the  banks  of  the  stream. 

As  Woodbury  lifted  his  hat  to  greet  her,  his  face  brightened 
with  a  pleasure  which  he  did  not  now  care  to  conceal.  There 
was  a  hearty,  confiding  warmth  in  the  grasp  of  his  hand,  as  he 
stood  face  to  face,  looking  into  her  clear,  dark-gray  eyes  with 
an  expression  as  frank  and  unembarrassed  as  a  boy's.  It  was 
this  transparent  warmth  and  frankness  which  swept  away  her 
cautious  resolves  at  a  touch.  In  spite  of  herself,  she  felt  that 
an  intimate  friendship  was  fast  growing  up  between  them,  and 
she  knew  not  why  the  consciousness  of  it  should  make  her  so 
uneasy.  There  was  surely  no  reproach  to  her  in  the  fact  that 
their  ideas  and  habits  were  so  different ;  there  was  none  of 
her  friends  with  whom  she  did  not  diflFer  on  points  more  or 
less  important.  The  current  setting  towards  her  was  pure 
and  crystal-clear,  yet  she  drew  back  from  it  as  from  the  rush 
of  a  dark  and  turbid  torrent. 

"  Well-met !"  cried  Woodbury,  with  a  familiar  playfulness. 
"We  are  both  of  one  mind  to-day,  and  what  a  day  for  out-of- 
doors  !  I  am  glad  you  are  able  to  possess  a  part  of  it ;  your 
mother  is  better,  I  hope  ?" 

"  She  is  much  as  usual,  and  I  should  not  have  left  her,  but 
foi  the  kindness  of  a  friend  who  comes  regularly  on  this  Jay 
y  the  week  to  take  my  place  for  an  hour  or  two." 

■'  Have  ycu  this  relief  but  once  in  seven  days  ?" 

"Oh,  no.  Mrs.  Styles  comes  on  Tuesdays,  and  those  two 
days,  I  find,  are  sufficient  for  my  needs.  Mrs.  Waldo  would 
relieve  me  every  afternoon  if  I  would  allow  her." 

"If  you  are  half  as  little  inclined  for  lonely  walks  as  I  am,'' 
said  Woodbury,  "  you  will  not  refuse  my  companionship  to 
day.     I  see  you  are  going  ont  the  eastern  road." 


872  I1A>"NAH   THUESTON  . 

"My  favorite  walk,"  she  answered,  "is  in  the  meadowi 
yonder.  It  is  the  wildest  and  most  secluded  spot  in  the  neigli- 
borhood  of  the  village." 

"  Ah,  I  have  noticed,  from  the  road,  in  passing,  the  beauty 
of  those  elms  and  clumps  of  alder,  and  the  picturesque  curvei 
^f  the  creek.  I  should  like  to  make  a  nearer  acquaintance 
with  them.  Do  you  feel  sufficient  confidence  in  my  apprecia- 
tion of  Nature  to  perform  the  introduction  ?" 

"  Nature  is  not  exclusive,"  said  she,  adopting  his  gay  tone, 
"  and  if  she  were,  I  think  she  could  not  exclude  you,  who  have 
known  her  in  her  royal  moods,  from  so  simple  and  unpretend- 
ing a  landscape  as  this." 

"  The  comparison  is  good,"  he  answered,  walking  onward 
by  her  side,  "but  you  have  drawn  the  wi'ong  inference.  I 
find  that  every  landscape  has  an  individual  character.  The 
royal  moods,  as  you  rightly  term  them,  may  impose  upon  us, 
like  human  royalty;  but  the  fact  that  you  have  been  presented 
at  Court  does  not  necessarily  cause  the  humblest  man  to  open 
his  heart  to  you.  What  is  it  to  yonder  alder  thickets  that  I 
have  looked  on  the  Himalayas  ?  What  does  East  Atauga  Creek 
care  for  the  fact  that  I  have  floated  on  the  Ganges  ?  If  the 
scene  has  a  soul  at  all,  it  will  recognize  every  one  of  your  foot- 
steps, and  turn  a  cold  shoulder  to  me,  if  I  come  with  any  such 
pretensions." 

Hannah  Thurston  laughed  at  the  easy  adroitness  with  which 
he  had  taken  up  and  applied  her  words.  It  was  a  light,  grace- 
ful play  of  intellect  to  which  she  was  unaccustomed — which, 
indeed,  a  year  previous,  would  have  sti'uck  her  as  trivial  and 
unworthy  an  earnest  mind.  But  she  had  learned  something 
in  that  time.  Her  own  mind  was  no  longer  content  to  move 
in  its  former  rigid  channels;  she  acknowledged  the  cheerful 
brightness  which  a  sunbeam  of  fancy  can  diffnse  over  the  sober 
coloring  of  thought. 

He  let  down  the  i.iovable  rails  from  the  panel  of  fonc^ 
wliich  gave  admittance  into  the  meadow,  and  put  them  up 
again  after  they  had  entered.     The  turf  was  thick  and  dry 


A   STOKSf    OF   AMERICAN   LIFS.  878 

witL  a  delightful  elasticity  which  lifted  the  feet  where  they 
•  pressed  it.  A  few  paces  brought  them  to  the  edge  of  the  belt 
of  thickets,  or  rather  islands  of  lofty  shrubbery,  between  which 
the  cattle  had  worn  paths,  and  which  here  and  there  enclosed 
little  peninsulas  of  grass  and  mint,  embraced  by  the  swift 
Atream.  The  tall  autumnal  flowers,  yellow  and  dusky  pur- 
ple, bloomed  on  all  sides,  and  bunches  of  the  lovely  fringed 
gentian,  blue  as  a  wave  of  the  Mediterranean,  were  set  among 
the  ripe  grass  like  sapphires  in  gold.  The  elms  which  at  in- 
tervals towered  over  this  picturesque  jungle,  had  grown  up 
Bince  the  valley-bottom  was  cleared,  and  no  neighboring  trees 
had  marred  the  superb  symmetry  of  their  limbs. 

Threading  the  winding  paths  to  the  brink  of  the  stream,  or 
back  again  to  the  open  meadow,  as  the  glimpses  through  the 
labyrinth  enticed  them,  they  slowly  wandered  away  from  the 
road.  Woodbury  was  not  ashamed  to  show  his  delight  in 
every  new  fragment  of  landscape  which  their  exploration  dis- 
closed, and  Miss  Thurston  was  thus  led  to  make  him  acquainted 
with  her  own  selected  gallery  of  pictures,  although  her  exclu- 
sive right  of  possession  to  them  thereby  passed  away  forever. 

Across  one  of  the  bare,  grassy  peninsulas  between  the  thicket 
and  the  stream  lay  a  huge  log  which  the  spring  freshet  had  stolen 
from  some  saw-mill  far  up  the  valley.  Beyond  it,  the  watery 
windings  ceased  for  a  hundred  yards  or  more,  opening  a  space 
for  the  hazy  hills  in  the  distance  to  show  their  purple  crests. 
Otherwise,  the  spot  was  wholly  secluded :  there  was  not  a 
dwelling  in  sight,  nor  even  a  fence,  to  recall  the  vicinity  of 
human  life.  This  was  the  enticing  limit  of  Hannah  Thurston's 
walks.  She  had  not  intended  to  go  so  far  to-day,  but  "a 
spirit  in  her  feet"  brought  her  to  the  place  before  she  wjis  ' 
aware. 

"  Ah  1"  cried  Woodbury,  as  they  emerged  from  the  tangled 
paths,  "  I  see  that  you  are  recognized  here.  Nature  has  inten. 
tionally  placed  this  seat  for  you  at  the  very  spot  where  you 
have  at  once  the  sight  of  the  hills  and  the  sound  of  the  water. 
How  musical  it  is,  just  at  this  point !     I  know  you  sing  here, 


87i  HA.NNAU   THURSTON 

Bometiiaes:    you  cannot  help  it,  with  such  an   accompaiii 
ment." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  a  flitting  smile  betrayed  her  assent, 
They  took  their  seats  on  the  log,  as  if  by  a  silent  understand- 
ing. The  liquid  gossip  of  the  stream,  in  which  many  voices 
seemed  to  mingle  in  shades  of  tone  so  delicate  that  the  ear 
lost,  as  soon  as  it  caught  them,  sounded  luUingly  at  their  feet. 
Now  and  then  a  golden  leaf  dropped  from  the  overhanging 
elm,  and  quivered  slantwise  to  the  ground. 

"  Ah,  that  reminds  me,"  said  Woodbury,  finally  breaking 
the  peaceful,  entrancing  silence — "one  of  those  exquisite  songs 
in  '  The  Princess'  came  into  my  head.  Have  you  read  the 
book?  You  promised  to  tell  me  what  impression  it  made 
upon  you." 

"  Tour  judgment  is  correct,  so  far,"  she  answered,  "  that  it 
18  poetry,  not  argument.  But  it  could  never  have  been  writ- 
ten by  one  who  believes  in  the  just  rights  of  woman.  In  the 
first  place,  the  Princess  has  a  very  faulty  view  of  those  rights, 
and  in  the  second  place  she  adopts  a  plan  to  secure  them  which 
is  entirely  impracticable.  If  the  book  had  been  written  for  a 
Berious  purpose,  I  should  have  been  disappointed ;  but,  taking 
it  for  what  it  is,  it  has  given  me  very  great  pleasure." 

'•*  You  say  the  Princess's  plan  of  educating  her  sex  to  inde- 
pendence is  impracticable;  yet — pardon  me  if  I  have  misunder- 
stood you — you  seem  to  attribute  your  subjection  to  the  influ- 
ence of  man— ^an  influence  which  must  continue  to  exercise  the 
same  power  it  ever  has.  What  plan  would  you  substitute  for 
hers?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered,  hesitatingly ;  "  I  can  only 
hope  and  believe  that  the  Truth  musit  finally  vindicate  itself. 
I  have  never  aimed  at  any  thiug  more  than  to  assert  it." 

"  Then  you  do  not  place  yourself  in  an  attitude  hostile  to 
man  ?"  he  asked. 

Hannah  Thurston  was  embarrassed  for  a  moment,  but  her 
frankness  conquered.  "  I  fear,  indeed,  that  I  have  done  so," 
she  said.     "  There  have  been  times  when  a  cruel  attack  ha* 


A   STOBY   OF   iACEEICAN   LIFE.  ftf5 

driven  me  to  resistance.  You  can  scarcely  appreciate  out 
position,  Mr.  Woodbury.  We  could  bear  opea  and  bonorable 
hostility,  but  the  conventionalities  which  protect  us  against 
that  offer  us  no  defence  from  sneers  and  ridicule.  The  very 
term  applied  to  us — '  strong-minded' — implies  that  weak  mind» 
%re  oui  natural  and  appropriate  inheritance.  It  is  in  human 
nature  I  think,  to  forgive  honest  enmity  sooner  than  covert 
contempt." 

"  Would  it  satisfy  you  that  the  sincerity  and  unselfishness 
of  your  aims  are  honored,  though  the  aims  themselves  are 
accounted  mistaken." 

"  It  is  all  we  could  ask  now !"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes  grow- 
Jig  darker  and  brighter,  and  her  voice  thrilling  with  its  earnest 
sweetness.     "  But  v\  ho  would  give  us  that  much  ?" 

"  /  would,"  said  Woodbury,  quietly.  "  Will  you  pardon 
me  for  saying  that  it  has  seemed  to  me,  until  recently,  as  if 
you  suspected  me  of  an  active  hostility  which  I  have  really 
never  felt.  My  opinions  are  the  result  of  my  experience  of 
men,  and  you  cannot  wonder  if  they  differ  from  yours.  I 
should  be  very  wrong  to  arrogate  to  myself  any  natural  supe- 
riority over  you.  I  tliink  there  never  can  be  any  difficulty  in 
determining  the  relative  rights  of  the  sexes,  when  they  truly 
understand  and  respect  each  other.  I  can  unite  with  you  in 
desiring  reciprocal  knowledge  and  reciprocal  honor.  If  that 
shall  be  attained,  will  you  trust  to  the  result  ?" 

"  Forgive  me :  I  did  misunderstand  you,"  she  said,  not 
answering  his  last  question. 

A  pause  ensued.  The  stream  gurgled  on,  and  the  pui-ple 
hills  smiled  through  the  gaps  in  the  autumnal  foliage.  "  Do 
you  believe  that  Ida  was  happier  with  the  Prince,  supposing 
he  were  faithful  to  the  pictrre  he  drew,  than  if  she  had  re- 
mained at  the  head  of  her  college  ?"  he  suddenly  asked. 

"  You  will  acquit  me  of  ho-tilit  y  to  your  sex  when  I  say  'Yes.' 
The  Prince  promised  her  eqiia'itv,  not  subjection.  It  is  sad 
ihat  the  noble  ami  elncjiicn;  .lose  of  tlie  poem  should  be  ita 
most  imaginative  part." 


3i6  HAKNAK  THORRTOW: 

The  tone  ot  mournful  unbelief  in  her  voice  fired  Woodbury*! 
blood.  His  heart  protested  against  her  words  and  demanded 
to  be  heard.  The  deepening  intimacy  of  their  talk  had  brought 
him  to  that  verge  of  frankness  where  the  sanctities  of  feeling, 
which  hide  themselves  from  the  gaze  of  the  world,  steal  up  to 
the  light  and  boldly  reveal  their  features.  "No,"  he  said,  warm- 
ly and  earnestly,  "  the  picture  is  not  imaginative.  Its  counter- 
part exists  in  the  heart  of  every  true  man.  There  can  be  no 
ideal  perfection  in  marriage  because  there  is  none  in  life  ;  but 
it  can,  and  should,  embody  the  tenderest  aflfection,  the  deepest 
trust,  the  divinest  charity,  and  the  purest  faith  which  human 
aature  is  capable  of  manifesting.  I,  for  one  man,  found  my  own 
dream  in  the  words  of  the  Prince.  I  have  not  remained  un- 
married from  a  selfish  idea  of  independence  or  from  a  want  of 
reverence  for  woman.  Because  I  hold  her  so  high,  because  I 
seek  to  set  her  side  by  side  with  me  in  love  and  duty  and  con- 
fidence, I  cannot  profane  her  and  myself  by  an  imperfect  union. 
I  do  not  understand  love  without  the  most  absolute  mutual 
knowledge,  and  a  trust  so  complete  that  there  can  be  no  ques- 
tion of  rights  on  either  side.  Where  that  is  given,  man  will 
never  withhold,  nor  will  woman  demand,  what  she  should  or 
should  not  possess.  That  is  my  dream  of  marriage,  and  it  is 
not  a  dream  too  high  for  attainment  in  this  life  !" 

The  sight  of  Hannah  Thurston's  face  compelled  him  to 
pause.  She  was  deadly  pale,  and  trembled  visibly.  The  mo- 
ment he  ceased  speaking,  she  rose  from  her  seat,  and,  after 
mechaiiically  plucking  some  twigs  of  the  berried  bittersweet, 
said  :  "  It  is  time  for  me  to  return." 

Woodbury  had  not  intended  to  say  so  much,  and  was  fear 
ful,  at  first,  that  his  impassioned  manner  had  suggested  the 
secret  he  still  determined  to  hidf .  In  that  case,  she  evidently 
desired  to  escape  its  utterance,  but  he  had  a  presentiment  that 
her  agitation  was  owing  to  a  different  cause.  Could  it  be 
that  he  had  awakened  the  memory  of  some  experience  of  love 
through  which  she  had  passed  ?  After  the  first  jealous  doubt 
which  this  thought  insi)ired,  it  x)resented  itself  to  his  mind  w 


A   8T0RT   OF  AMERICAIT  tIFE.  911 

h  relief.  The  duty  which  pressed  upon  him  would  he  more 
lightly  performed;  the  test  to  which  he  nmst  first  subject 
her  would  be  surer  of  success. 

As  they  threaded  the  embowered  paths  on  their  homeward 
way,  he  said  to  her,  gravely,  but  cheeriully :  "  You  see,  Miss 
Thurston,  your  doubt  of  my  sex  has  forced  me  to  show  myself 
to  you  as  I  am,  in  one  respect.  But  I  will  not  regret  the  con 
fession,  unless  you  should  think  it  intrusive." 

"  Believe  me,"  she  answered,  "  I  know  how  to  value  it. 
You  have  made  me  ashamed  of  my  unbelief." 

"  And  you  have  confirmed  me  in  ray  belief.  This  is  a  sub- 
ject which  neither  man  nor  woman  can  rightly  interpret, 
alune.  Why  should  we  never  speak  of  that  which  is  most 
vital  in  our  lives  ?  Here,  indeed,  we  are  governed  by  con- 
ventional ideas,  springing  from  a  want  of  truth  and  purity. 
But  a  man  is  always  ennobled  by  allowing  a  noble  woman  to 
look  into  his  heart.  Do  you  recollect  my  story  about  the 
help  Mrs.  Blake  gave  me,  under  awkward  circumstances, 
before  her  marriage  ?" 

■  "  Perfectly.     It  was  that   story  which  made  me  wish  to 
know  her.     What  an  admirable  woman  she  is  !" 

"  Admirable,  indeed  !"  Woodbury  exclaimed.  "  That  was 
not  the  only,  nor  the  best  help  she  gave  me.  I  learned  from 
her  that  women,  when  they  are  capable  of  friendship — don't 
misunderstand  me,  I  should  say  the  same  thing  of  men — are 
the  most  devoted  friends  in  the  world.  She  is  the  only  con- 
soling figure  in  an  episode  of  my  life  which  had  a  great  influ- 
ence upon  my  fate.  The  story  is  long  since  at  an  end,  but  1 
should  like  to  tell  it  to  you,  some  time." 

"  If  you  are  willing  to  do  so,  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  anothei 
lastance  of  Mrs.  Blake's  kindness." 

"  Not  only  that,"  Woodbury  continued,  "  but  still  another 
portion  of  my  histoi  y.  I  will  not  press  my  confidence  upon 
you,  but  I  shall  be  glad,  very  glad,  if  you  will  kindly  consent 
to  receive  it.  Some  things  in  my  life  suggest  questions  which 
I  have  tried  to  answer,  and  cannot.     I  must  have  a  woman'i 


378  HANNAH   THUESTOir: 

help.  I  know  you  are  all  truth  and  candor,  and  I  am  willing 
to  place  my  doubts  in  your  hands." 

He  spoke  earnestly  and  eagerly,  walking  by  her  side,  but 
with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground.  His  words  produced  in 
her  a  feeling  of  interest  and  curiosity,  under  which  lurked  a 
singular  reluctance.  She  was  still  unnerved  by  her  former 
agitation.  "  Why  should  you  place  such  confidence  in  me  ?" 
she  at  length  faltered.  "  You  have  other  friends  who  deserve 
it  better." 

"  We  cannot  always  explain  our  instincts,"  he  answered. 
'  I  must  tell  you,  and  you  alone.  If  I  am  to  have  help  in 
these  doubts,  it  is  you  who  can  give  it." 

His  words  seized  her  and  held  her  powerless.  Her  Quaker 
blood  still  acknowledged  the  authority  of  those  mysterioua 
impulses  which  are  truer  than  reason,  because  they  come  from 
a  deeper  source.  He  spoke  with  a  conviction  from  which 
there  was  no  appeal,  and  the  words  of  refusal  vanished  from 
her  lips  and  from  her  heart. 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  she  said.  "  I  will  do  my  best.  I  hope  1 
may  be  able  to  help  you." 

He  took  her  hand  and  held  it  a  moment,  with  a  warm  pres- 
sure.    "  God  bless  you  !"  was  all  he  said. 

They  silently  •trurned  up  the  road.  On  reaching  the  gate 
of  the  cottage,  he  took  leave  of  her,  saying  :  "  You  will  have 
my  story  to-morrow."  His  face  was  earnest  and  troubled ; 
it  denoted  the  presence  of  a  mystery,  the  character  of  which 
she  could  not  surmise. 

On  entering  the  cottage,  she  first  went  up-stairs  to  her  own 
room.  She  had  a  sensation  of  some  strange  expression  having 
come  over  her  face,  which  must  be  banished  from  it  before  she 
could  meet  her  mother.  She  must  have  five  minutes  alone  to 
think  upon  what  had  passed,  before  she  could  temporarily  put 
it  away  from  her  mind.  But  her  thoughts  were  an  indistinct 
chaos,  through  whicli  only  two  palpable  sensations  crossed  each 
other  as  they  moved  to  and  fro  one  of  unreasoning  joy,  one 
of  equally  unreasoning  terror.     What  either  of  them  portend 


A   STOBY   OF   AMAEICAN   lAFK.  J78 

ed  she  could  not  guess.  She  only  felt  that  there  was  no  stable 
point  to  which  she  could  cling,  but  the  very  base  of  her  being 
seemed  to  shift  as  her  thoughts  pierced  down  to  it. 

Her  eyes  fell  upon  the  volume  of  "  The  Princess,"  which  lay 
npon  the  little  table  beside  her  bed.  She  took  it  up  with  a 
sudden  desire  to  read  again  the  closing  scene,  where  the 
heroine  lays  her  masculine  ambition  in  the  hands  of  love.  The 
book  opened  of  itself,  at  another  page :  the  first  words  ar- 
rested her  eye  and  she  read,  involuntarily  : 

**  Ask  me  no  more :  the  moon  may  draw  the  sea, 

The  cloud  may  stoop  from  heaven  and  take  the  shape, 
With  fold  on  fold,  of  mountain  and  of  cape, 
But  oh,  too  fond,  when  have  I  answered  thee  ? 

Ask  me  no  more. 

"Ask  me  no  more:  what  answer  could  I  give? 
I  love  not  hollow  cheek  and  fading  eye. 
Yet  oh,  my  friend,  I  would  not  have  thee  die : 
Ask  me  no  more,  lest  I  should  bid  thee  live ; 

Ask  me  no  more. 

"  Ask  me  no  more :  thy  fate  and  mine  are  sealed. 
I  strove  against  the  stream,  and  strove  in  vain : 
Let  the  great  river  bear  me  to  the  main  I 
No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield — 

Ask  me  no  more." 

The  weird,  uncontrollable  power  which  had  taken  possession 
of  her  reached  its  climax.  She  threw  down  the  book  and 
banit  into  tears. 


Smi  BAN^AB.  THUBSTOW: 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

ME.    WOODBUBT's   COITPKSSIOIT. 

TowABDS  evening,  on  Saturday,  Bute  called  at  the  cottage, 
and  after  inquiring  concerning  the  widow's  condition,  and 
giving,  in  return,  a  most  enthusiastic  report  of  Carrie's  ac- 
complishments,  he  produced  a  package,  with  the  remark : 

"  Here,  Miss  Hannah,  's  a  book  that  Mr.  Max.  give  me  fot 
you.  He  says  you  needn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  send  any  of  'em 
back.     He  got  a  new  lot  from  N'ew  York  yisterday." 

She  laid  it  aside  until  night.  It  was  late  before  her  mother 
slept  and  she  could  be  certain  of  an  hour,  alone,  and  secure 
from  interruption.  When  at  last  all  was  quiet  and  the  fire 
was  burning  low  on  the  hearth,  and  the  little  clock  ticked  like 
a  strong  pulse  of  health,  in  mockery  of  the  fading  life  in  the 
bosom  of  the  dear  invalid  in  the  next  room,  she  took  th^i  book 
in  her  hands.  She  turned  it  over  first  and  examined  the  paper 
wrapping,  as  if  that  might  suggest  the  nature  of  the  unknown 
contents;  then  slowly  untied  the  string  and  unfolded  the 
paper.  When  the  book  appeared,  she  first  looked  at  the  back ; 
it  was  Ware's  "  Zenobia" — a  work  she  had  long  desired  to 
possess.  A  thick  letter  slipped  out  from  between  the  blank 
'eavps  and  fell  on  her  lap.  On  the  envelope  was  her  name 
only — "  Hannah  Thurston" — in  a  clear,  firm,  masculine  hand. 
She  laid  the  volume  aside,  broke  the  seal  and  read  the  letter 
ihrough  from  beginning  to  end  : 

*'  Dea-r  Miss  Thurston  : — I  know  how  much  I  have  asked 
ol  you  in  begging  permission  to  write,  for  your  eye,  the  story 
which  folloM^s.     Therefore  I  have  not  allowed  myself  to  stand 


A   STOEY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE.  881 

shivering  on  the  brink  of  a  plunge  which  I  have  determined 
to  make,  or  to  postpone  it,  from  the  fear  that,  the  venture  of 
confidence  which  I  now  send  out  will  come  to  shipwreck. 
Since  I  have  learned  to  appreciate  the  truth  and  nobleness  of 
your  nature — since  I  have  dared  to  hope  that  you  honor  me 
witli  a  friendly  regard — most  of  all,  since  I  find  that  the  feel- 
ings which  I  recognize  as  the  most  intimate  and  sacred  portion 
Df  myself  seek  expression  in  your  presence,  I  am  forced  to 
make  you  a  participant  in  the  knowledge  of  my  life.  Whether 
it  be  that  melancholy  knowledge  which  a  tender  human  charity 
takes  under  its  protecting  wing  and  which  thenceforward 
sleeps  calmly  in  some  shadowy  corner  of  memory,  or  that  evil 
knowledge  which  torments  because  it  cannot  be  forgotten,  1 
am  not  able  to  foresee.  I  will  say  nothing,  in  advance,  to 
secure  a  single  feeling  of  sympathy  or  consideration  which 
your  own  nature  would  not  spontaneously  prompt  you  to  give. 
I  know  that  in  this  step  I  may  not  be  acting  the  part  of  a 
friend ;  but,  whatever  consequences  may  follow  it,  I  entreat 
you  to  believe  that  there  is  no  trouble  which  I  would  not 
voluntarily  take  upon  myself,  rather  than  inflict  upon  you  a 
moment's  unnecessary  pain. 

"  Have  you  ever,  in  some  impartial  scrutiny  of  self,  dis- 
covered to  what  extent  your  views  of  Woman,  and  your  aspi- 
rations in  her  behalf,  were  drawn  fi-om  your  own  nature?  Are 
you  not  inclined  to  listen  to  your  own  voice  as  if  it  were  the 
collective  voice  of  your  sex  ?  If  so,  you  may  to  some  extent, 
accept  me  as  an  interpretation  of  Man.  I  am  neither  better 
nor  worse  than  the  general  average  of  men.  My  principal  ad- 
vantages are,  that  I  was  most  carefully  and  judiciously 
educated,  and  that  my  opportunities  of  knowing  mankind  have 
heen  greater  than  is  usual.  A  conscientious  study  of  human 
nature  ought  to  be  the  basis  of  all  theories  of  reform.  I  think 
you  will  agree  with  me,  thus  far ;  and  therefore,  however  my 
present  confession  may  change  your  future  relations  towards 
me,  I  shall  have,  at  least,  the  partial  consolation  of  knowing 
that  I  have  added  sometliing  to  your  knowledge. 


882  HANNAH  THURSTON : 

"  Let  me  ada  only  this,  before  I  commence  my  narrauTe— 
that  it  treats  entirely  of  the  occurrences  of  ray  life,  which  have 
Drought  me  near  to  woman  through  my  emotions.  It  is  mj 
esperience  of  the  sex,  so  far  as  that  experience  has  taken  a 
deeper  hold  on  my  heart.  You  are  not  so  cold  and  unsympa- 
thotic  as  to  repel  the  subject.  The  instinct  which  has  led  mo 
to  choose  you  as  the  recipient  of  my  confidence  cannot  ba 
false.  That  same  instinct  tells  me  that  I  shall  neither  withhold 
nor  seek  to  extenuate  whatever  directly  concerns  myself.  I 
dare  not  do  either. 

"  My  nature  was  once  not  so  calm  and  self-subdued  as  it 
may  seem  to  you  now.  As  a  youth  I  was  ardent,  impetuous, 
and  easily  controlled  by  my  feelings.  In  the  heart  of  almost 
any  boy,  from  seventeen  to  twenty,  there  is  a  train  laid,  and 
waiting  for  the  match.  As  I  approached  the  latter  age,  mine 
was  kindled  by  a  girl  two  years  younger  than  myself,  the 
daughter  of  a  friend  of  my  father.  I  suppose  all  early  passions 
have  very  much  the  same  character :  they  are  intense,  absorb- 
ing, unreasoning,  but  generally  shallow,  not  from  want  of  sin- 
cerity but  from  want  of  development.  The  mutual  attachment 
necessarily  showed  itself,  and  was  tacitly  permitted,  but  with- 
out any  express  engagement.  I  had  never  surprised  her  with 
any  sudden  declaration  of  love :  our  relation  had  gradually 
grown  into  existence,  and  we  were  both  so  happy  therein  that 
we  did  not  need  to  question  and  discuss  our  feelings.  In  fact, 
we  were  rarely  sufficiently  alone  to  have  allowed  of  such  con- 
fidences ;  bii*^^  we  sought  each  other  in  society  or  in  our  re- 
spective family  circles  and  created  for  ourselves  a  half-privacy 
in  the  presence  of  others.  Nothing  seemed  more  certain  to- 
either  of  us  than  that  our  fates  were  already  united,  for  we 
accepted  the  tolerance  of  our  attachment  as  a  sanction  of  its 
future  seal  upon  our  lives. 

"After  my  father's  failure  and  death,  however,  I  discovered, 
with  bitterness  of  heart,  that  it  was  not  aloiie  my  pecuniary 
prospects  which  had  changed.  Her  father,  a  shrewd,  hard 
Doan  of  business,  was  one  of  the  very  few  who  prospered  in  a 


A   StOKY    OF   AM££ICAIi   UF£.  8^3 

season  of  general  ruin — who  perhaps  foresaw  the  crash  and 
prepared  himself  to  take  advantage  of  the  splend'i  ipportuni* 
lies  which  it  offered.  His  wealth  was  doubled,  probably 
trebled,  in  a  year :  he  won  advantages  which  compelled  the 
most  exclusive  circles  to  receive  him,  and  his  family  dropp«Hi 
their  old  associations  as  fast  as  they  familiarized  themselves 
with  the  new.  I  saw  this  change,  at  first,  without  the  slightest 
misgis  ing :  my  faith  in  human  nature  was  warm  and  fresh, 
and  the  satisfied  bliss  of  my  affections  disposed  me  to  judge 
all  men  kindly.  I  only  refrained  from  asking  the  father's  as- 
sistance in  my  straits,  from  a  feeling  of  delicacy,  not  because 
I  had  any  suspicion  that  it  would  not  be  given.  Little  by 
little,  however,  the  conviction  forced  itself  upon  my  mind  ihat 
I  was  no  longer  a  welcome  visitor  at  the  honse :  I  was  dropped 
from  the  list  of  guests  invited  to  dinners  and  entertainments, 
and  my  reception  became  cold  and  constrained.  From  the 
sadness  and  uneasiness  on  the  face  of  my  beloved,  I  saw  that 
she  was  suffering  for  my  sake,  and  on  questioning  her  she  did 
not  deny  that  she  had  been  urged  to  give  me  up.  She  assured 
me,  nevertheless,  of  her  own  constancy,  and  exhorted  me  to 
have  patience  until  my  prospects  should  improve. 

"  It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Mtss  Remington  (Mrs.  Blake, 
you  will  remember)  became  a  comforting  angel  to  both  of  us. 
She  had  remarked  our  attachment  from  its  first  stage,  and  with 
tier  profound  scorn  of  the  pretensions  of  wealth,  she  deter- 
mined to  assist  the  course  of  true  love.  We  met,  as  if  b\ 
accident,  at  her  father's  house,  and  she  generally  contrived  that 
we  should  have  a  few  minutes  alone.  Thus,  several  months 
passed  away.  My  position  had  not  advanced,  bc-ause  1  had 
every  thing  to  learn  when  I  first  took  it,  but  I  began  to  hav<^ 
more  confidence  in  myself,  and  remained  cheerful  and  lioiiefiil. 
r  was  not  disturbed  by  the  fact  that  my  beloved  sometimes 
failed  to  keep  her  appointments,  but  I  could  not  help  remark- 
ing, now,  that  when  she  did  appear,  she  seemed  ill  at  ease  and 
Itrove  to  make  tlie  interviews  us  Aion  :is  possible. 

"There  was  somethiii":  in   _\iiss  Remington's  manner,  also, 


384  ilAN?fAtt   TBtrRSTON: 

which  1  could  not  understand.  I  missed  the  frank,  heartj 
sympathy  with  faithful  and  persecuted  love,  which  she  had 
given  me.  A  restless  anxiety,  pointing  to  one  thing  or 
another,  but  never  towards  the  truth,  took  possession  of  rae. 
One  day  on  making  my  pre-arranged  call,  I  found  Miss  Rem 
mgton  alone.  Her  face  was  grave  and  sad.  She  saw  my  look 
'>f  disappointment :  she  allowed  me  to  walk  impatiently  up  and 
down  the  room  three  or  four  times,  then  she  arose  and  seized 
me  by  both  hands.  'Am  I  mistaken  in  you?'  she  asked; 
'  Are  you  yet  a  man  ?'  '  I  am  trying  to  prove  it,'  I  answered. 
'Then,'  she  said,  'prove  it  to  me.  If  you  were  to  have  a 
looth  drawn,  would  you  turn  back  a  dozen  times  from 
the  dentist's  door  and  bear  the  ache  a  day  longer,  or  would 
you  go  in  at  once  and  have  it  out?'  I  sat  down,  chilled  to 
the  heart,  and  said,  desperately :  *  I  am  ready  for  the  opera- 
tion !'  She  smiled,  but  there  were  tears  of  pity  in  her  eyes. 
She  told  me  as  kindly  and  tenderly  as  possible,  all  she  had 
learned :  that  the  girl  who  possessed  my  unquestioning  faith 
was  unworthy  of  the  gift:  that  the  splendors  of  the  new  circle 
into  which  she  had  ascended  had  become  indispensable  to  her 
that  her  attachment  to  me  was  now  a  simple  embarrassment: 
that  her  beauty  had  attracted  wealthy  admirers,  one  of  whom, 
a  shallow-brained  egotist,  was  reported  to  be  especially  favored 
by  her,  and  that  any  hope  I  might  have  of  her  constancy 
to  me  must  be  uprooted  as  a  delusion. 

"  I  tried  to  reject  this  revelation,  but  the  evidence  was 
too  clear  to  be  discredited.  Nevertheless,  I  insisted  on  seeing 
the  girl  once  more,  and  Miss  Remington  brought  about  the 
interview.  I  was  too  deeply  disappointed  to  be  indignant; 
she  sliowed  a  restless  impatience  to  be  gone,  as  if  some  ren* 
nani  of  conscience  still  spoke  in  her  heart.  I  told  her,  sadly, 
that  I  saw  she  was  changed.  If  her  attachment  for  me  had 
laded,  as  I  feared,  I  would  not  despotically  press  mine  upon 
her,  but  would  release  her  from  the  mockery  of  a  duty  which 
her  heart  no  longer  acknowledged.  I  expected  a  penitent 
lonfession  of  the  truth,  in  return,  and  was  therefore  wholly 


A   STOET    OF   AMEEICAX   LIFE.  385 

unprepared  for  the  angry  reproaches  she  heaped  upon  me. 
*  Very  fine  !'  she  cried ;  '  I  always  thought  there  was  no  stM- 
picion  where  there  was  love !  I  am  to  be  accused  of  false* 
hood,  from  a  jealous  whim.  It's  very  easy  for  you  to  give  up  an 
attachment  that  died  out  long  ago !'  But  I  will  not  repeat 
her  expressions  further.  I  should  never  have  comprehended 
them  without  Miss  Remington's  assistance.  She  was  vexed 
that  I  should  have  discovered  her  want  of  faith  and  given  her 
back  her  freedom :  she  should  have  been  the  first  to  break  the 
bonds.  I  laughed,  in  bitterness  of  heart,  at  her  words ;  1 
could  give  her  no  other  answer. 

"  The  shock  my  aflFections  received  was  deeper  than  I  cared 
to  show.  It  was  renewed,  when,  three  months  afterwards, 
the  faithless  girl  married  the  rich  fool  whom  she  had  preferred 
to  me.  I  should  have  become  moody  and  cynical  but  for  the 
admirable  tact  with  which  Miss  Remington,  in  her  perfect 
fi-iendship,  softened  the  blow.  Many  persons  suppose  that  a 
pure  and  exalted  relation  of  this  kind  cannot  exist  between 
man  and  woman,  without  growing  into  love — in  other  words, 
that  friendship  seeks  its  fulfilment  in  the  same  sex  and  love 
in  the  opposite.  I  do  not  agree  with  this  view.  The  thought 
of  loving  Julia  Remington  never  entered  my  mind,  and  she 
would  have  considered  me  as  wanting  in  sanity  if  I  had  inti- 
mated such  a  thing,  but  there  was  a  happy  and  perfect  confi- 
dence between  us,  which  was  my  chief  support  in  those  days 
of  misery. 

"  I  accepted,  eagerly,  the  proposition  to  become  the  Calcutta 
agent  of  the  mercantile  house  in  which  I  was  employed.  The 
abadow  of  my  disappointment  still  hung  over  me,  and  there 
were  now  but  few  associations  of  my  life  in  New  York  to 
make  the  parting  difiicult.  I  went,  and  in  the  excitement  of 
new  scenes,  in  the  absorBing  duties  of  my  new  situation,  in 
tlie  mo''e  masculine  strength  that  came  with  maturity,  I  grad- 
ually forgot  the  blow  which  had  been  struck — or,  if  I  did  not 
forget,  the  sight  of  the  scar  no  longer  recalled  the  pain  of  the 
wound,  Nevertheless,  it  had  made  me  suspicious  and  fearfol. 
17 


886  HANNAH   THUfiSTON: 

I  questioned  every  rising  inclination  of  my  hearl,  and  sup 
pressed  the  whispers  of  incipient  affection,  determined  that 
no  woman  should  ever  again  deceive  me  as  the  first  had  done. 
The  years  glided  away,  one  by  one ;  I  had  slowly  acquired  the 
habit  of  self-control,  on  which  I  relied  as  a  natural  and  suffi- 
cient guard  for  my  heart,  and  the  longing  for  woman's  partner- 
Bhip  in  life,  which  no  man  can  ever  wholly  suppress,  again  began 
to  make  itself  heard.  I  did  not  expect  a  recurrence  of  the 
passion  of  youth.  I  knew  that  I  had  changed,  and  that  love, 
therefore,  must  come  to  me  in  a  different  form.  I  remembered 
what  I  heard  at  home,  as  a  boy,  that  when  the  original  forest 
is  cleared  away,  a  new  forest  of  different  trees  is  developed 
from  the  naked  soil.  But  I  still  suspected  that  there  must  be 
a  family  likeness  in  the  growth,  and  that  I  should  recognize  its 
sprouting  germs. 

"  Between  five  and  six  years  ago,  it  was  necessary  that  I 
should  visit  Europe,  in  the  interest  of  the  house.  I  was  ab- 
sent from  India  nearly  a  year,  and  during  that  time  made  my 
first  acquaintance  with  Switzerland,  the  memory  of  which  is 
now  indissolubly  connected,  in  my  mind,  with  that  song  which 
I  have  heard  you  sing.  But  it  is  not  of  this  that  I  would 
speak.  I  find  myself  shrinking  from  the  new  revelation  which 
must  be  made.  The  story  is  not  one  of  guilt — not  even  of 
serious  blame,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  If  it  were  necessary 
T  could  tell  it  to  any  tnan^  without  reluctance  for  my  own  sake 
Men,  in  certain  respects,  have  broader  and  truer  views  of  lif« 
than  women ;  they  are  more  tender  in  their  judgment,  more 
guarded  in  their  condemnation.  I  am  not  justifying  myself, 
\\\  advance,  for  I  can  acquit  myself  of  any  intentional  wrong. 
[  only  feel  that  the  venture,  embodied  in  my  confession,  is  about 
to  be  sent  forth — either  to  pitying  gales  that  shall  waft  it  safely 
back  to  me,  or  to  storms  in  Avhich  it  shall  go  down.  Recollect, 
dear  Miss  Thurston,  that  whatever  of  strength  I  may  posses* 
you  have  seen.  I  am  now  about  to  show  you,  volmtarlly,  my 
weakness. 

"  Among  the  passengers  on  board  the  steamer  by  which  1 


A   tTORV    O^  AMERICAN   LIFE.  887 

leturnecl  to  India,  there  was  a  lady  who  had  been  recom« 
mendi'd  to  my  care  by  some  mutual  acquaintance  in  England. 
She  was  the  wife  of  a  physician  in  the  Company's  Service  who 
was  sta'ioned  at  Benares,  and  who  had  sent  her  home  with 
her  chil  lien  a  year  and  a  half  before.  The  latter  were  loft  in 
England,  while  she  returned  to  share  the  exile  of  her  husband 
until  he  should  be  entitled  to  a  pension.  She  was  a  thoroughly 
refined  and  cultivated  woman,  of  almost  my  own  age,  and 
shrank  from  contact  with  the  young  cubs  of  cadets  and  the  o» 
tentatio  us  indigo-planters,  with  their  beer-drinking  wives,  whc 
were  almost  the  only  other  passengers.  We  were  thus  thrown 
continually  together,  and  the  isolation  of  ocean-life  contributed 
to  hasten  our  intimacy.  Little  by  little  that  intimacy  grew 
deep,  tender,  and  powerful.  I  told  her  the  humiliating  stor> 
of  my  early  love  which  you  have  just  read,  and  she  describet' 
to  me,  with  tearful  reluctance,  the  unhappiness  of  her  married 
life.  Her  husband  had  gone  to  England  eight  years  before,  on 
leave  of  absence,  on  purpose  to  n^arry.  She  had  been  found 
to  answer  his  requirements,  and  ignorant  of  life  as  she  was  at 
that  time,  ignorant  of  her  own  heart,  had  been  hurried  into 
the  marriage  by  her  own  family.  Her  father  was  in  moderate 
circumstances,  and  he  had  many  daughters  to  provide  with 
husbands  ;  this  was  too  good  a  chance  to  let  slip,  and,  as  it 
was  known  that  she  had  no  other  attachment,  her  hesitation 
was  peremptorily  overruled.  She  discovered,  too  late,  that 
there  was  not  only  no  point  of  sympathy  between  her  husband 
and  herself,  but  an  absolute  repulsion.  He  was  bold  and 
steady-handed  as  a  surgeon,  and  had  performed  some  daring 
operations  which  had  distinguished  him  in  his  profession  ;  bu* 
he  was  hard,  selfish,  and  tyrannical  in  his  domestic  relations 
and  his  unfortunate  wife  could  only  look  forward  with  drea(? 
tc  the  continual  companionship  which  was  her  doom. 

"  I  had  been  sure  of  recognizing  any  symptom  of  returning 
love  in  my  heart— but  I  was  mistaken.  It  took  the  form  of 
pity,  and 'so  lulled  my  suspicions  to  sleep  that  my  power  of 
will  was  drugged  before  I  knew  it.     Her  own  heart  was  not 


888  HANNAH  tuTteston: 

more  merciful  towards  lier.  Poor  woman !  if  she  had  evei 
dreamed  of  love  the  dream  had  been  forgotten.  She  was  ig- 
norant of  the  fatal  spell  which  had  come  upon  us,  and  I  did 
not  detect  my  own  passion  until  its  reflection  was  throwt 
back  to  me  from  her  innocent  face.  When  I  had  discovered 
the  truth,  it  was  too  late — too  late,  I  mean,  for  her  happiness, 
aot  too  late  for  the  honor  of  both  our  lives.  I  could  not  ex 
plain  to  her  a  danger  which  she  did  not  suspect,  nor  could  I 
embitter,  by  an  euforoed  coldness,  her  few  remaining  happy 
days  of  our  voyage.  With  a  horrible  fascination,  I  saw  her 
drawing  nearer  and  nearer  the  brink  of  knowledge,  and  my 
lips  were  sealed,  that  only  could  have  uttered  the  warning  cry, 

*'  Again  I  was  called  upon  to  sufler,  but  in  a  way  I  had 
never  anticipated.  The  grief  of  betrayed  love  is  tame,  beside 
the  despair  of  forbidden  love.  This  new  experience  showed 
me  how  light  was  the  load  which  I  had  already  borne.  On 
the  one  side,  two  hearts  that  recognized  each  other  and  would 
have  been  faithful  to  the  end  of  time ;  on  the  other,  a  mon- 
strous bond,  which  had  only  the  sanction  of  human  laws.  I 
rebelled,  in  my  very  soul,  against  the  mockery  of  that  legal 
marriage,  which  is  the  basis  of  social  virtue,  forgetting  that 
Good  must  voluntarily  bind  itself  m  order  that  Evil  may  not 
go  free.  The  boundless  tenderness  towards  her  which  had 
suddenly  revealed  itself  must  be  stifled.  I  could  not  even 
press  her  hand  warmly,  lest  some  unguarded  pulse  should  be- 
tray the  secret ;  I  scarcely  dared  look  in  her  eyes,  lest  mine 
might  stab  her  with  the  sharpness  of  my  love  and  my  sorrow 
in  the  same  glance. 

"  It  was  all  in  vain.  Some  glance,  some  word,  or  touch  cf 
hand,  on  either  side,  did  come,  and  the  thin  disguise  was 
torn  away  forever.  Then  we  spoke,  for  the  consolation  of 
■peech  seemed  less  guilty  than  the  agony  of  silence.  In  the 
moonless  nights  of  the  Indian  Ocean  we  walked  the  deck  with 
hands  secretly  clasped,  with  silent  tears  on  our  cheeks,  with 
a  pang  in  our  souls  only  softened  by  the  knowledge  that  it 
was  mutual.    Neither  of  us,  I  think,  then  thought  of  disputing 


«.   sTORT    OP    .^AfKRlCAN   LIFB.  38B 

Oft/  fate.  But  as  the  voyage  drew  near  its  end,  I  was  haunt- 
ed by  wild  fancies  of  escape.  I  could  not  subdue  my  nature 
to  forego  a  fulfilment  that  seemed  possible.  We  might  find 
B  refuge,!  thought,  in  Java,  or  Celebes,  or  some  of  the  Indian 
Isles,  and  once  beyond  the  reach  of  pursuit  what  was  the  rest 
of  the  world  to  us  ?  What  was  wealth,  or  name,  or  station  ? 
— they  were  hollow  sounds  to  us  now,  they  were  selfish  cheats, 
always.  In  the  perverted  logic  of  passion  all  was  clear  and 
fair. 

"  This  idea  so  grew  upon  me  that  I  was  base  enough  to 
propose  it  to  her — I  who  should  have  given  reverence  to  that 
•gnorance  of  the  heart  which  made  her  love  doubly  sacred, 
strove  to  turn  it  into  the  instrument  of  her  ruin !  She  heard 
me,  in  fear,  not  in  indignation.  '  Do  not  tempt  me !'  she 
cried,  with  a  pitiful  supplication ;  '  think  of  my  children,  and 
help  me  to  stand  up  against  my  own  heart !'  Thank  God  I 
was  not  deaf  to  that  cry  of  weakness ;  I  was  armed  to  meet 
resistance,  but  I  was  powerless  against  her  own  despairing 
fear  of  surrender.  Thank  God,  I  overcame  the  relentless  selfish- 
ness of  my  sex !  She  took  from  my  lips,  that  night,  the  only 
kiss  I  ever  gave  her — the  kiss  of  repentance,  not  of  triumph 
It  left  no  stain  ou  the  purity  of  her  marriage  vow.  That  was 
Oiir  true  parting  from  each  other.  There  were  still  two  days 
of  our  voyage  left,  but  we  looked  at  each  other  as  if  through 
the  bars  of  opposite  prisons,  with  a  double  wall  between.  Our 
renunciation  was  complete,  and  any  further  words  would  have 
been  an  unnecessary  pang.  We  had  a  melancholy  pleasure  in 
still  being  near  each  other,  in  walking  side  by  side,  in  the 
brmal  touch  of  hands  that  dared  not  clasp  and  be  clasped 
This  poor  consolation  soon  ceased.  The  husband  was  waiting 
for  her  at  Calcutta,  and  I  purposely  kept  my  state-room  when 
we  arrived,  in  order  that  I  might  not  see  hira.  I  was  not  yet 
Bure  of  myself. 

"She  went  to  Benares,  and  afterwards  to  Meerut,  and  I 
oever  saw  her  again.  In  a  little  more  than  a  year  I  heard  she 
was  dead  :  '  the  fever  of  the  country,'  they  said.     I  was  glad 


3$K>  nAlOfAH   THURSTON: 

of  it — death  was  better  for  her  than  her  life  liad  1)6611 — now 
at  least,  wlien  that  life  had  become  a  perpetual  infidelity  to  hei 
Ueart.  Death  purified  the  memory  of  my  passion,  and  gave 
me,  perhaps,  a  sweeter  resignation  than  if  she  had  first  yielded 
to  iny  madness.  Sad  and  hopeless  as  was  this  episode  of  my 
life,  it  contained  an  element  of  comfort,  and  restored  thr 
balance  which  my  first  disappointment  had  destroyed.  My 
grief  for  her  was  gentle,  tender  and  consoling,  and  I  never 
turned  aside  from  its  approaches.  It  has  now  withdrawn  into 
the  past,  but  its  influence  still  remains,  in  this — that  the  desire 
for  that  fulfilment  of  passion,  of  which  life  has  thus  far  cheated 
me,  has  not  grown  cold  in  my  heart. 

"  There  are  some  natures  which  resemble  those  plants  that 
die  after  a  single  blossoming — natures  in  which  one  passion 
seems  to  exhaust  the  capacities  for  afiection.  I  am  not  one  of 
them,  yet  I  know  that  I  possess  the  virtue  of  fidelity.  I  know 
that  I  still  wait  for  the  fortune  that  shall  enable  me  to  manifest 
it.  Do  you,  as  a  woman,  judge  me  unworthy  to  expect  that  for- 
tune ?  You  are  now  acquainted  with  my  history  ;  try  me  by 
the  sacred  instincts  of  your  own  nature,  and  according  to  them, 
pardon  or  condemn  me.  I  have  revealed  to  you  my  dream  of 
the  true  marriage  that  is  possible — a  dream  that  prevents  me^,- 
from  stooping  to  a  union  not  hallowed  by  perfect  love  and 
faith.  Have  I  forfeited  the  right  to  indulge  this  dream  longer  ? 
Would  I  be  guilty  of  treason  towards  the  virgin  confidence  of 
some  noble  woman  whom  God  may  yet  send  me,  in  oflTering 
her  a  heart  which  is  not  fresh  in  its  knowledge,  though  fresh 
in  its  immortal  desires  ?  I  pray  you  to  answer  me  these  ques- 
tions ?  Do  not  blame  your  own  truth  and  nobihty  of  natui'e, 
R^hich  have  brought  you  this  task.  Blame,  if  you  please,  my 
selfishness  in  taking  advantage  of  them. 

"  I  have  now  told  you  all  I  meant  to  confess,  and  might  here 
close.  But  one  thought  occurs  to  me,  suggested  by  the  sud- 
den recollection  of  the  reform  to  which  you  have  devoted 
yourself.  I  fear  that  all  reformers  are  too  much  disposed  to 
measure  the  actions  and  outward  habits  of  the  human  race, 


■m 


A    iSTOFY   or   AMERICAN    LIFE.  .  3&\ 

without  examining  the  hidden  causes  of  those  actions.  Ther« 
IS  some  basis  in  our  nature  for  all  general  tjustoms,  both  of 
body  and  mind.  The  mutual  relation  of  man  and  woman,  in 
Society,  is  determined  not  by  a  conscious  exercise  of  tyranny 
on  the  one  side,  or  subjection  on  the  other.  Each  sex  has  ita 
peculiar  mental  and  moral  laws,  the  differences  between  which 
are  perhaps  too  subtle  and  indefinable  to  be  distinctly  drawn, 
but  they  are  as  palpable  in  life  as  the  white  and  red  which 
neighboring  roses  draw  from  the  selfsame  soil.  When  we 
have  differed  in  regard  to  Woman,  I  have  meant  to  speak  sin- 
cerely and  earnestly,  out  of  the  knowledge  gained  by  an  ur- 
fortunate  experience,  which,  nevertheless,  has  not  touched  the 
honor  and  reverence  in  which  I  hold  the  sex.  I  ask  you  to 
remember  this,  in  case  the  confidence  I  have  forced  upon  you 
should  hereafter  set  a  gulf  between  us. 

"  I  have  deprived  myself  of  the  right  to  make  any  request, 
but  whatever  your  judgment  may  be,  will  you  let  me  hear  it 
from  your  own  lips  ?  Will  you  allow  me  to  see  you  once 
more  ?  I  write  to  you  now,  not  because  I  should  shrink  from 
speaking  the  same  Avords,  but  because  a  history  like  mine  is 
not  always  easily  or  clearly  told,  and  I  wish  your  mind  to  be 
uninfluenced  by  the  sympathy  which  a  living  voice  might 
inspire. 

"  On  Tuesday  next  you  will  be  free  to  take  your  accustomed 
walk.  May  I  be  your  companion  again,  beside  the  stream  ? 
But,  no ;  do  not  write  :  you  will  find  me  there  if  you  consent 
to  see  me  If  you  do  not  come,  I  shall  expect  the  written  evi- 
dence, if  not ^of  your  continued  respect,  at  least  of  your  forgive 
aess.  But,  in  any  case,  think  of  me  always  as  one  man  wha 
having  known  you,  will  never  cease  to  honor  Woman. 

"  Your  friend, 

"Maxwell  Woodbubt." 


39^2  HAirtfAH  thubstom: 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

rX    W^HICH  THE   STHONG-MINDED     WOMAN   BBCOMSS    WSAJL. 

It  did  not  require  the  sound  of  a  living  voice  to  inspire 
Hannah  Thurston  with  sympathy  for  the  story  which  she  had 
just  read.  Never  before  had  any  man  so  freely  revealed  to 
ber  the  sanctities  of  his  experience  of  women.  Completely 
absorbed  in  the  recital,  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  first  strong 
impressions  of  alternate  indignation  and  pity,  without  reflect- 
ing upon  the  deeper  significance  of  the  letter.  Woodbury's 
second  episode  of  passion  at  first  conflicted  harshly  with  the 
pure  ideal  in  her  own  mind ;  the  shock  was  perhaps  greater 
to  her  than  the  confession  of  actual  guilt  would  have  been  to 
a  woman  better  acquainted  with  the  world.  Having  grown 
up  in  the  chaste  atmosphere  of  her  sect,  and  that  subdued  life 
of  the  emotions  which  the  seclusion  of  the  country  creates,  it 
startled  her  to  contemplate  a  love  forbidden  by  the  world,  yet 
justifying  itself  to  the  heart.  Nevertheless,  the  profound  pity 
which  came  upon  her  as  she  read  took  away  from  her  the 
power  of  condemnation.  The  wrong,  she  felt,  was  not  so  much 
in  the  love  which  had  unsuspectedly  mastered  both,  as  in  the 
impulse  to  indulge  rather  than  suppress  it;  but*  having  been 
BU])i)ressed — passion  having  been  purified  by  self-abnegation 
and  by  death,  she  could  not  withhold  a  tender  human  eharitj 
even  for  this  feature  of  the  confession. 

Woodbury's  questions,  however,  referred  to  the  future,  no 
iess  than  to  the  past.  They  hinted  at  the  possibility  of  a  ne^w 
love  visiting  his  heart.  The  desire  for  it,  he  confessed,  had  not 
^own  cold.     Deceit  and  fate  had  not  mastered,  in  him,  th« 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAJf   LIFE.  398 

immortal  yearning:  was  he  unworthy  to  receive  it?  "Try 
me,"  he  had  written,  "  by  the  sacred  instincts  of  your  own 
nature,  and  according  to  them  pardon  or  condemn  me."  She 
had  aheady  pardoned.  Perhaps,  had  she  read  the  same  wordg 
coming  from  a  stranger,  or  as  an  incident  of  a  romance,  she 
would  have  paused  and  deliberated ;  her  natural  severty 
Would  have  been  slow  to  relax ;  but  knowing  Woodbury  &g 
■he  had  latterly  learned  to  know  him,  in  his  frankness,  his 
manly  firmness  and  justice,  his  noble  consideration  for  herself 
her  heart  did  not  delay  the  answer  to  his  questions.  He  had 
put  her  to  shame  by  voluntarily  i-evealing  his  weakness,  while 
she  had  determined  that  she  would  never  allow  him  to  dis 
cover  her  own. 

Little  by  little,  however,  after  it  became  clear  that  her  sym- 
pathy and  her  charity  were  justifiable,  the  deeper  questions 
which  lay  hidden  beneath  the  ostensible  purpose  of  his  lettei 
crept  to  the  surface.  In  her  ignorance  of  the  coming  confes- 
sion, she  had  not  asked  herself,  in  advance,  why  it  should  have 
been  made;  she  supposed  it  would  be  its  own  explanation. 
The  reason  he  had  given  was  not  in  itself  sufficient,  but  pre- 
supposed something  more  important  which  he  had  not  ex- 
pressed. No  man  makes  such  a  confidence  from  a  mere  feeling 
of  curiosity.  Simultaneously  with  this  question  came  another 
— why  should  he  fancy  that  his  act  might  possibly  set  a  gulf 
between  them  ?  Was  it  simply  the  sensitiveness  of  a  nature 
which  would  feel  itself  profaned  by  having  its  secrets  misun- 
derstood ?  No ;  a  heart  thus  sensitive  would  prefer  the  secu- 
rity of  silence.  Was  he  conscious  of  a  daAvning  love,  and, 
doubtful  of  himself,  did  he  ask  for  a  woman's  truer  interpret 
tation  of  his  capacity  to  give  and  keep  faith  ?  "  It  is  cruel  in 
him  to  ask  me,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  does  he  think  my  heart 
is  insensible  as  marble,  that  I  should  probe  it  with  thoughts, 
every  one  of  which  inflicts  a  wound?  Why  daes  he  no: 
send  his  confession  at  onoj  to  her  f  It  is  she  who  should  hear 
it,  not  I !  He  is  already  guilty  of  treason  to  her,  in  asking 
the  question  of  me  .'" 
17* 


804  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

She  put  the  letter  suddenly  on  the  table,  and  half  iom 
from  her  chair,  in  the  excitement  of  the  thought.  Then,  as  if 
sti'uck  by  a  stunning  blow,  she  dropped  back  again.  Her  face 
grew  cold  and  deadly  pale,  and  her  arms  fell  nerveless  at  her 
sides.  Her  eyes  closed,  and  her  breath  came  in  long,  labored 
sighs  After  a  few  minutes  she  sat  up,  placed  her  elbow  on 
tlie  table  and  rested  her  forehead  on  her  hand.  "  I  am  grow- 
ing idiotic,"  she  whispered,  with  an  attempt  to  smile ;  **  my 
brain  is  giving  way — it  is  only  a  woman's  brain." 

The  fire  had  long  been  extinct.  The  room  was  cold,  and  a 
chill  crept  over  her.  She  rose,  secured  the  letter  and  the 
book,  and  went  to  bed.  As  the  balmy  warmth  stole  over  her 
frame,  it  seemed  to  soften  and  thaw  the  painful  constriction 
of  her  heart,  and  she  wept  herself  into  a  sad  quiet.  "  Oh,  if 
it  should  be  so,"  she  said,  "I  must  henceforth  be  doubly 
wretched  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  cannot  give  up  the  truthi 
to  which  I  have  devoted  my  life,  and  they  now  stand  between 
my  heart  and  the  heart  of  the  noblest  man  I  have  ever  known. 
Yes :  my  pride  is  broken  at  last,  and  I  will  confess  to  myself 
how  much  I  honor  and  esteem  him — not  love — but  even  there 
I  am  no  longer  secure.  We  were  so  far  apart — how  could  I 
dream  of  danger  ?  But  I  recognize  it  now,  too  late  for  him 
—almost  too  late  for  me!" 

Then,  again,  she  doubted  every  thing.  The  knowledge  had 
come  too  swiftly  and  suddenly  to  be  accepted  at  once.  Ue 
could  not  love  her ;  it  was  preposterous.  Until  a  few  days 
ago  he  had  thought  her  cold  and  severe  :  now,  he  acknowl- 
edged her  to  be  true,  and  his  letter  simply  appealed  to  that 
truth,  unsuspicious  of  the  secret  slumbering  in  her  heart.  He 
had  spoken  of  the  possibility  of  a  pure  and  exalted  friendship 
between  the  sextrf,  such  as  already  existed  between  himself 
and  Mrs  Blake :  perhaps  he  aimed  at  nothing  more,  in  this 
instance.  Somehow,  the  thought  was  not  so  consoling  as  it 
ought  properly  to  have  been,  and  the  next  moment  the  skilful 
explanation  which  she  had  built  up  tumbled  into  ruins. 

She  slept  but  little,  that  night,  and  all  the  next  day  went 


A.  STOBY   OF  AMEEICAK  LIFB.  390 

•bout  her  duties  as  if  in  a  dream.  She  knew  that  her  mother'* 
eye  sometimes  rested  uneasily  on  her  pale  face,  and  the  con- 
fession of  her  trouble  more  than  once  rose  to  her  tongue,  but 
she  resolutely  determined  to  postpone  it  until  the  dreaded 
crisis  was  past.  She  would  not  agitate  the  invalid  with  her 
confused  apprehensions,  all  of  which,  moreover,  might  prove 
themselves  to  have  been  needless.  With  every  fresh  conflict 
in  her  mind  her  judgment  seemed  to  become  more  unsteady. 
The  thought  of  Woodbury's  love,  having  once  revealed  Itself 
to  her,  would  not  be  banished,  and  every  time  it  returned,  il 
seemed  to  bring  a  gentler  and  tenderer  feeling  for  him  into  her 
heart.  On  the  other  hand  her  dreams  of  a  career  devoted  to 
the  cause  of  Woman  ranged  themselves  before  her  mental 
vision,  in  an  attitude  of  desperate  resistance.  "  Now  is  the 
test !"  they  seemed  to  say  :  "  vindicate  your  sex,  or  yield  to 
the  weakness  of  your  heart,  and  add  to  its  reproach  !" 

When  Monday  came,  it  brought  no  cessation  of  the  struggle, 
but  she  had  recovered  something  of  her  usual  self-control.  Sht 
had  put  aside,  temporarily,  the  consideration  of  her  doubts  ; 
the  deeper  she  penetrated  into  the  labyrinth,  the  more  she 
became  entangled,  and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  wait,  with  as 
much  calmness  as  she  could  command,  for  the  approaching 
solution.  The  forms  of  terror,  of  longing,  of  defence  and  of 
submission  continually  made  their  presence  felt  by  turns,  or 
chaotically  together,  but  the  only  distinct  sensation  she  per- 
mitted herself  to  acknowledge  was  this  :  that  if  her  forebodinga 
were  true,  the  severest  trial  of  her  life  awaited  her.  Hei 
pride  forbade  her  to  shrink  from  the  trial,  yet  every  hoiu 
that  brought  her  nearer  to  it  increased  her  dread  of  tlie  meefc 
ing. 

Her  mother's  strength  was  foiling  rapidly,  and  on  this  da} 
she  required  Hannah's  constant  attendance.  When,  at  last, 
the  latter  was  relieved  for  the  night,  her  fatigue,  combined 
with  tiie  wakeful  torment  of  the  two  preceding  nights,  com- 
pletely overpovvcred  her  and  she  slumbered  fast  and  hea>ily 
until  morning.     Her  first  waking  thought  was — "  The  day  if 


396  HANNAH  thukston: 

come,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  meet  him."  Tlie  morning 
was  dull  and  windless,  and  as  she  looked  upon  the  valley  fi-om 
her  window,  a  thick  blue  film  enveloped  the  distant  woods,  the 
dark  pines  and  brown  oaks  mingling  with  it  indistinctly,  while 
ihe  golden  and  orange  tints  of  the  maples  shone  through.  Hei 
physical  mood  corresponded  with  the  day.  The  forces  of  hei 
spirit  were  sluggish  and  "apathetic,  and  she  felt  that  the  resist- 
ance which,  in  the  contingency  she  dreaded,  must  be  made, 
would  be  obstinately  passive,  rather  than  active  and  self-con- 
tamed.  A  sense  of  inexpressible  weariness  stole  over  her. 
Oh,  she  thought,  if  she  only  could  be  spared  the  trial !  Yet, 
how  easily  it  might  be  avoided  !  She  needed  only  to  omit  her 
accustomed  walk :  she  could  write  to  him,  afterwards,  and 
honor  his  confidence  as  it  deserved.  But  an  instinct  told  her 
that  this  would  only  postpone  the  avowal,  not  avert  it.  If  she 
was  wrong,  she  had  nothing  to  fear ;  if  she  was  right,  it  would 
be  cowardly,  and  unjust  to  him,  to  delay  the  answer  she  must 
give. 

Her  mother  had  slightly  rallied,  and  when  Mrs.  Styles 
arrived,  as  usual,  early  in  the  afternoon,  the  invalid  could  be 
safely  left  in  her  charge.  Nevertheless,  Hannah,  after  having 
put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  lingered  in  the  room,  with  a  last, 
anxious  hope  that  something  might  happen  which  would  give 
her  a  pretext  to  remain. 

"  Child,  isn't  thee  going  ?"  the  widow  finally  asked. 

"  Mother,  perhaps  I  had  better  stay  with  thee  this  after- 
noon ?"  was  the  hesitating  answer. 

"  Indeed,  thee  shall  not  do  any  such  thing !  Thee's  not  been 
thyself  for  the  last  two  days,  and  I  know  thee  always  comes 
back  from  thy  walks  fresher  and  better.  Bring  me  a  handful 
if  gentians,  won't  thee  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother."  She  stooped  and  kissed  the  old  iroman*s 
forehead,  and  then  left  the  house. 

The  sky  was  still  heavy  and  gray,  and  there  was  an  oppres- 
live  warmth  in  the  air.  Crickets  chirped  loud  among  the  dying 
weeds  along  the  garden-palings,  and  crcfws  cawed  hoarsely 


A   BTOET    OP   AMEBICAU  LIFE.  897 

from  the  tops  of  the  elms.  The  road  was  deserted,  as  far  a« 
she  could  see,  but  the  sound  of  farmers  calling  to  their  oxeu 
came  distinctly  across  the  valley  from  the  fields  on  the  eastern 
hill.  Nature  seemed  to  lie  benumbed,  in  drowsy  half-con- 
Bciousness  of  her  being,  as  if  under  some  narcotic  influence. 

She  walked  slowly  forward,  striving  to  subdue  the  anxious 
beating  of  her  heart.  At  the  junction  of  the  highways,  she 
stole  a  glance  down  the  Anacreon  road  :  nobody  was  to  be 
seen.  Down  the  other  :  a  farm-wagon  was  on  its  way  home 
from  Ptolemy — that  was  all.  To  the  first  throb  of  relief  suc- 
ceeded a  feeling  of  disappointment.  The  walk  through  the 
meadow-thickets  would  be  more  lonely  than  ever,  remember- 
ing the  last  time  she  had  seen  them.  As  she  looked  towards 
their  dark-green  mounds,  drifted  over  with  the  downy  tufttj 
of  the  seeded  clematis,  a  figure  suddenly  emerged  from  the 
nearest  path  and  hastened  towards  her  across  the  meadow  ! 

He  let  down  the  bars  for  her  entrance  and  stood  waiting 
for  her.  His  brown  eyes  shone  with  a  still,  happy  light,  and 
his  face  brightened  as  if  struck  by  a  wandering  sunbeam.  He 
looked  so  frank  and  kind — so  cheered  by  her  coming — so  un- 
embarrassed by  the  knowledge  of  the  confession  he  had  made, 
that  the  wild  beating  of  her  heart  was  partially  soothed,  and 
she  grew  calmer  in  his  presence. 

"  Thank  you !"  he  said,  as  he  took  her  hand,  both  in  greeting 
and  to  assist  her  over  the  fallen  rails.  "When  he  had  put  them 
up,  and  regained  her  side,  he  si)oke  again :  "  Shall  we  not  go 
on  to  that  lo\ely  nook  of  yours  beside  the  creek ?  I  have 
taken  a  great  fancy  to  the  spot ;  I  have  recalled  it  to  my 
memory  a  thousand  times  since  then." 
"Yes,  if  you  wish  it,"  she  answered. 

As  they  threaded  the  tangled  paths,  he  spoke  cheerfully 
and  pleasantly,  drawing  her  into  talk  of  the  autumnal  plants, 
of  the  wayward  rapids  and  eddies  of  the  stream,  of  all  sights 
and  sounds  around  them.  A  balmy  quiet,  which  she  mistook 
for  strength,  took  possession  of  her  heart.  She  reached  the 
secluded  nook,  with  a  feeling  of  timid  expectancy,  it  is  true. 


A9S  HANXAH   THUBSTON:  * 

but  with  scarcely  a  trace  of  her  former  overpowering  diead. 
There  lay  the  log,  as  if  awaiting  them,  and  the  stream  gurgled 
contentedly  around  the  point,  and  the  hills  closed  lofiilj 
through  blue  vapor,  up  the  valley,  like  the  entrance  to  an 
Alpine  gorge. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated,  Woodbury  spoke.  "  Can  yon 
inswer  my  questions  ?" 

"  You  have  made  that  easy  for  me,"  she  replied,  in  a  lo^ 
i'oice.  "  It  seems  to  me  rather  a  question  of  character  than 
of  experience.  A  man  naturally  false  and  inconstant  might 
have  the  same  history  to  relate,  but  I  am  sure  you  aro  true. 
You  should  ask  those  questions  of  your  own  heart ;  where 
you  are  sure  of  giving  fidelity,  you  would  commit  no  treason 
in  bestowing — attachment." 

She  dared  not  utter  the  other  word  in  her  mind. 
"  I  was  not  mistaken  in  you !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  have 
the  one  quality  which  I  demand  of  every  man  or  woman  in 
whom  I  confide ;  you  distinguish  between  what  is  true  in 
human  nature  and  what  is  conventionally  true.  I  must  show 
myself  to  you  as  I  am,  though  the  knowledge  should  give  you 
pain.  The  absolution  of  the  sinner,"  he  added,  smiling,  "is 
already  half  pronounced  in  his  confession."  ' 

"Why  should  I  be  your  confessor?"  she  asked.  "The 
knowledge  of  yourself  which  you  have  confided  to  me,  thus 
far,  does  not  give  me  pain.  It  has  not  lowered  you  in  ray 
esteem  but  I  feel,  nevertheless,  that  your  confidence  is  a  gift 
which  I  have  done  nothing  to  deserve,  and  which  I  ought  not 
to  accept  unless — unless  I  were  able  to  make  some  return.  If 
I  had  answered  your  questions  otherwise,  I  do  not  think  it 
would  have  convinced  you,  against  your  own  feelings.  With 
Four  integrity  of  heart,  you  do  not  need  the  .nid  of  a  woman 
whose  experience  of  life  is  so  much  more  limited  than  yours.*' 
She  spoke  very  slowly  and  deliberately,  and  the  sentences 
seemed  to  come  with  an  effort.  Woodbury  saw  that  her 
clear  vision  had  pierced  througli  his  flimsy  stratagem,  and 
guessed  that  she  must  necessarilv  susr)e(jt  the  truth.     Still,  h« 


A   STORY    OF   AMERlCAJf   LIFB.  399 

drew  back  from  the  final  venture  upon'  which  so  much  de- 
pended.    He  would  first  sound  the  depth  of  h'fer  suspicious. 

*'  No  man,"  he  said,  gently,  "  can  be  independent  of  woman's 
judgment,  without  loss  to  himself.  Her  purer  nature  is  a 
better  guide  to  him  than  his  own  clouded  instincts.  I  should 
not  have  attributed  a  difi'erent  answer  to  your  true  self,  but  to 
\he  severe  ideas  of  duty  which  I  imagined  you  to  possess. 
You  were  right  to  suppose  that  I  had  already  answered  for 
myself,  but  can  you  not  understand  the  joy  of  hearing  it  thus 
confirmed  ?  Can  you  not  appreciate  the  happy  knowledge 
that  one's  heart  has  not  been  opened  in  vain  ?" 

"  I  can  understand  it,  though  I  have  had  little  experience  of 
such  knowledge.  But  I  had  not  supposed  that  you  needed  it, 
Mr.  Woodbury — least  of  all  from  me.  We  seem  to  have  had 
so  little  in  common " 

"  Not  so !"  he  interrupted.  "  Opinions,  no  matter  how 
powerfully  they  may  operate  to  shape  our  lives,  are  external 
circumstances,  compared  with  the  deep,  original  springs  of 
character.  You  and  I  have  only  differed  on  the  outside,  and 
hence  we  first  clashed  when  we  came  in  contact ;  but  mow  I 
recognize  in  you  a  nature  for  which  I  have  sought  long  and 
wearily.  I  seek  some  answering  recognition,  and  in  my  haste 
have  scarcely  given  you  time  to  examine  whether  any  features 
in  myself  have  grown  familiar  to  you.  I  see  now  that  I  was 
hasty :  I  should  have  waited  until  the  first  false  impression 
was  removed." 

The  memory  of  Mrs.  Waldo's  reproach  arose  in  Hannah 
Thurston's  mind.  "  Oh  no,  you  mistake  me !"  she  cried.  "  I 
am  no  longer  unjust  to  you.  But  you  surpass  me  in  magna- 
nimity as  you  have  already  done  in  justice.  You  surprised 
me  by  a  sacred  confidence  which  is  generally  accorded  only  to 
a  tried  friend.  I  had  given  you  no  reason  to  suppose  that  I 
was  a  friend :  I  had  almost  made  myself  an  enemy." 

"  Let  the  Past  be  past :  I  know  you  now.  My  confidenct 
was  not  entirely  magnanimous.     It  was  a  test." 

"And  I  have  stood  it?"  she  Altered. 


400  HANNAH   THUESTON: 

"  Not  yet,"  he  answered,  and  his  voice  trembled  into  a 
Bweet  and  solemn  strain,  to  which  every  nerve  in  her  body 
seemed  to  listen.  "  Not  yet !  You  must  hear  it  now.  I 
questioned  you,  after  you  knew  the  history  of  my  heart,  .n 
order  that  you  might  decide  for  yourself  as  well  as  me.  Love 
purifies  itself  at  each  return.  My  unfortunate  experience  ha« 
Qot  prevented  me  from  loving  again,  and  with  a  purity  and  in 
tensity  deeper  than  that  of  my  early  days,  because  the  passion 
was  doubted  and  resisted  instead  of  being  received  in  my 
heart  as  a  coveted  guest.  I  am  beyond  the  delusions  of  youth, 
but  not  beyond  the  wants  of  manhood.  I  described  to  you, 
the  other  day,  on  this  spot,  my  dream  of  marriage.  It  was 
not  an  ideal  picture.     Hannah  Thurston,  I  thought  of  you  /" 

The  crisis  had  come,  and  she  was  not  prepared  to  meet  it. 
As  he  paused,  she  pressed  one  hand  upon  her  heart,  as  if  it 
might  be  controlled  by  physical  means,  and  moved  her  lips^ 
but  no  sound  came  from  them. 

"I  knew  you  could  not  have  anticipated  this,"  he  continued; 
"I  should  have  allowed  you  time  to  test  me,  in  return,  but 
when  the  knowledge  of  your  womanly  purity  and  gentleness 
penetrated  me,  to  the  overthrow  of  all  antagonism  based  on 
shallow  impressions,  I  parted  with  judgment  and  will.  A 
power  stronger  than  myself  drove  me  onward  to  the  point  I 
have  now  reached — the  moment  of  time  which  must  decide 
your  fate  and  mine." 

She  turned  upon  him  with  a  wild,  desperate  energy  in  her 
face  and  words.  "Why  did  you  come,"  she  cried,  "to  drive 
me  to  madness  ?  "Was  it  not  enough  to  undermine  the  foun- 
dations of  my  faith,  to  crush  me  with  the  cold,  destroying 
knowledge  you  have  gained  in  the  world?  My  life  was  fixed, 
before  I  knew  you ;  I  was  sure  of  myself  and  satisfied  with 
the  work  that  was  before  me :  but  now  I  am  sure  of  nothing. 
You  have  assailed  me  until  you  have  discovered  my  weakness, 
and  yr.u  cruelly  tear  down  every  prop  on  which  I  try  to  lean! 
If  I  could  hate  you  I  should  regain  my  strength,  but  I  CP.nno* 
do  that — you  know  I  cannot !" 


A    STOBSr    OF   AMERICAN  LIFE.  40i 

He  did  not  misinterpret  her  excitement,  which  yielded  more 
than  it  assailed.  "  N"o,  Hannah !"  he  said  tenderly,  "  I  would 
give  you  strength,  not  take  it  from  you — the  strength  of  my 
love,  and  sympathy,  and  encouragement.  I  know  how  these 
aims  have  taken  hold  upon  you:  they  are  built  upon  a  basis 
of  earnest  truth  which  /  recognize,  and  though  I  diffci 
with  you  as  to  the  ends  to  be  attained,  we  may  both  enlighten 
each  other,  and  mutual  tenderness  and  mutual  respect  govern 
our  relations  in  this  as  in  all  else.  Do  not  think  that  I  would 
make  my  love  a  fetter.  I  can  trust  to  your  nature  working 
itself  into  harmony  with  mine.  If  I  find,  through  the  dearer 
knowledge  of  you,  that  I  have  misunderstood  Woman,  I  will 
atone  for  the  error ;  and  I  will  ask  nothing  of  you  but  that 
which  I  know  you  will  give — the  acknowledgment  of  the 
deeper  truth  that  is  developed  with  the  progress  of  life." 

She  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  "  Say  no  more,"  she  mur- 
mured, in  a  faint,  hollow  voice,  "  I  cannot  bear  it.  Oh,  what 
will  become  of  me  ?  You  are  noble  and  generous — I  was 
learning  to  look  up  to  you  and  to  accept  your  help,  and  now 
you  torture  me !" 

He  was  pitiless.  He  read  her  more  truly  than  she  read 
herself,  and  he  saw  that  the  struggle  must  now  be  fought  out 
to  its  end.  Her  agitation  gave  him  hope — it  was  the  surge 
and  swell  of  a  rising  tide  of  passion  which  she  resisted  with  the 
last  exercise  of  a  false  strength.  He  must  seem  more  cruel  still, 
though  the  conflict  in  her  heart  moved  him  to  infinite  pity. 
His  voice  assumed  a  new  power  as  he  spoke  again  : 

"  Hannah,"  he  said,  "  I  vmst  speak.  Remember  that  I  am 
pleading  for  all  the  remaining  years  of  my  life— and,  it  may 
be,  for  yours.  Here  is  no  question  of  subjection  ;  I  offer  you 
tho  love  that  believetb  all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth 
C^  things.  It  is  not  for  me  to  look  irreverently  into  your 
maiden  heart :  but,  judging  you,  as  woman,  by  myself,  as  man. 
you  must  have  dreamed  of  a  moment  like  this.  You  must 
have  tried  to  imagine  the  foce  of  the  unknown  beloved ;  you 
must  have  prefigured  the  holy  confidence  of  love  which  would 


402  HANTSTAH   THURSTOK  1 

force  you  to  give  your  fate  into  his  hands;  you  must  h&vt 
drawn  the  blessed  life,  united  with  his,  the  community  of  in- 
terest, of  feeling,  and  of  faith,  the  protecting  support  on  his 
side,  the  consoling  tenderness  on  yours " 

She  seized  his  arm  with  the  hand  nearest  him,  and  grasped 
it  convulsively.  Her  head  dropped  towards  her  breast  and 
her  face  was  hidden  from  his  view.  He  gently  disengaged  the 
hand  and  held  it  in  his  own.  But  he  would  not  be  silent,  id 
obedience  to  her  dumb  signal :  he  steeled  his  heart  against  her 
pain,  and  went  on : 

*'  You  have  tried  to  banish  this  dream  from  your  heart,  but 
you  have  tried  in  vain.  You  have  turned  away  from  the  con- 
templation of  the  lonely  future,  and  cried  aloud  for  its  fulfil- 
ment in  the  silence  of  your  soul.  By  day  and  by  night  it  has 
clung  to  you,  a  torment,  but  too  dear  and  beautiful  to  be  re- 
nounced  " 

He  paused.  She  did  not  withdraw  her  hand  from  his, 
but  she  was  sobbing  passionately.  Still,  her  head  was  turned 
away  from  him.  Her  strength  was  only  broken,  not  sub- 
dued. 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  "  that  nothing  in  our  lives  resembles 
the  picture  which  anticipates  its  coming.  I  am  not  the  man 
of  your  dreams.  Such  as  I  fancy  them  to  be,  no  man  on  the 
earth  would  be  worthy  to  represent  him.  But  I  can  give  you 
the  tenderness,  the  faith,  the  support  you  have  claimed  from 
him,  in  your  heart.  Do  not  reject  them  while  a  single  voice 
of  your  nature  tells  you  that  some  portion  of  your  ideal  union 
may  be  possible  in  us.  The  fote  of  two  lives  depends  on  your 
answer :  in  this  hour  trust  every  thing  to  the  true  voice  of  your 
heart.     You  say  you  cannot  hate  me  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  without  speaking.  She  was  still  sob 
biug  violently. 

"  I  do  not  ask  you,  in  this  moment,  if  you  love  me  I  can- 
not stake  my  future  on  a  venture  which  I  feel  to  be  periloua 
But  I  will  ask  you  this  :  could  you  love  nie  ?" 

She  made  no  sign :  her  hand  lay  in  his,  and  her  face  wa» 


A    STORY    OF    AMERICAN   LIFE,  40S 

Dent  towards  her  bosom.     He  took  her  other  hand,  and  hold 
ing  them  both,  wliispered :  "  Hannah,  look  at  me." 

She  turned  her  head  slowly,  with  a  helpless  submission,  and 
lifted  her  face.  Her  cheeks  were  wet 'with  tears,  and  her 
lovely  dark-gray  eyes,  dimmed  by  the  floods  that  had  gushed 
from  them  in  spite  of  herself,  met  his  gaze  imploringly.  The 
•trong  soul  of  manhood  met  and  conquered  the  woman  in  that 
glance.  He  read  his  triumph,  but  veiled  his  own  consciousness 
of  it — curbed  his  triumphant  happiness,  lest  she  should  take 
alarm.  Softly  and  gently,  he  stole  one  arm  around  her  waist 
and  drew  her  to  his  breast.  The  violence  of  her  agitation 
gradually  ceased ;  then,  lifting  her  head,  she  withdrew  fi-om 
his  clasp,  and  spoke,  very  softly  and  falteringly,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground  : 

"  Yes,  Maxwell,  it  is  as  I  have  feared.  I  will  not  say  that  I 
love  you  now,  for  my  heart  is  disturbed.  It  is  powerless  to 
act  for  me,  in  your  presence.  I  have  felt  and  struggled  against 
your  power,  but  you  have  (.-onquered  me.  If  you  love  me,  pity 
me  also,  and  make  a  gentle  use  of  your  triumph.  Do  not 
bind  me  by  any  promise  at  present.  Be  satisfied  with  the 
knowledge  that  has  come  to  me — that  I  have  been  afraid  to 
love  you,  because  I  foresaw  how  easy  it  would  be.  Do  not 
ask  any  thing  more  of  me  now.  I  can  bear  no  more  to-day. 
My  strength  is  gone,  and  I  am  weak  as  a  child.  Be  mag 
nanimous." 

He  dr(?\v  lier  once  more  softly  to  his  breast  and  kissed  her 
,lips.  There  was  no  resistance,  but  a  timid  answering  pressure. 
He  kissed  her  again,  with  the  passionate  cliiiging  sweetness  cf 
a  heart  that  seals  an  eternal  claim.  She  tore  herself  loose  from 
hiin  and  cried  Avith  a  fiery  vehemence:  "  God  will  curse  yoii 
if  von  deceive  me  now  !  You  have  bound  me  to  think  of  you 
day  and  night,  to  recall  your  looks  and  words,  to— oh,  Max- 
well, to  what  have  you  not  bound  my  heart !" 

«  I  would  bind  you  to  no  more  than  I  give,"  he  answered. 
"I  ask  no  promise.  Let  us  simply  be  free  to  find  our  way  to 
the  full  knowledge  of  each  other.     When  you  can  trust  your 


404  HANNAH    THUnSTON: 

life  to  me,  I  will  take  it  in  tender  and  reverent  keeping,    1 

trust  mine  to  you  now." 

She  did  not  venture  to  meet  his  eyes  again,  but  she  took  Lia 
outstretched  hand.  'He  led  her  to  the  edge  of  the  peninsula, 
and  they  stood  thus,  side  by  side,  while  the  liquid,  tinkling 
semitones  of  the  water  made  a  contented  accompaniment  to 
the  holy  silence.  In  that  silence  the  hearts  of  both  were  busy. 
He  "felt  that  though  his  nature  had  proved  the  stronger,  she 
was  not  yet  completely  won  :  she  was  like  a  bird  bewildered 
by  capture,  that  sits  tamely  for  a  moment,  afraid  to  try  its 
wings.  He  must  complete  by  gentleness  what  he  had  begun 
by  power.  She,  at  the  moment,  did  not  think  of  escape.  She 
only  felt  how  hopeless  would  be  the  attempt,  either  to  advance 
or  recede.  She  had  lost  the  strong  position  in  which  she  had 
so  long  been  intrenched,  yet  could  not  subdue  her  mind  to  the 
inevitable  surrender. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  troubled,"  he  said  at  last,  and  the 
considerate  tenderness  of  his  voice  fell  like  a  balm  upon  her 
heart,  "  but  do  not  think  that  you  alone  have  yielded  to  a 
power  Avhich  mocks  human  will.  I  spoke  truly,  when  I  said 
that  the  approach  of  love,  this  time,  had  been  met  with  doubt 
and  resistance  in  myself.  I  have  first  yielded,  and  thus  knowl- 
edge came  to  me  while  you  were  yet  ignorant.  From  that 
ignorance  the  consciousness  of  love  cannot,  perhaps,  be  bom 
at  once.  But  I  feel  that  the  instinct  which  led  me  to  seek 
you,  has  not  been  false.  I  can  now  appreciate  something  of 
your  struggle,  Avhich  is  so  much  the  more  powerful  than  ray 
own  as  woman's  stake  in  marriage  is  greater  than  man's.  Let 
us  grant  to  each  other  an  equally  boundless  trust,  and  in  that 
pure  air  all  remaining  doubt,  or  jealousy,  or  fear  of  compro- 
mised rights,  will  die.  Can  you  grant  me  this,  much,  Hannah  1 
(t  is  all  I  ask  now." 

She  had  no  strength  to  refuse.  She  trusted  his  manhood 
already  with  her  whole  heart,  though  foreseeing  what  such 
trust  implied.  "It  is  myself  only,  that  I  doubt,"  she  an- 
swered.   


A.   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFB.  406 

**  Be  kiud  to  me,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  releasing  her 
hand  from  his  clasp  and  half  turning  away  :  "  Consider  how  I 
have  failed — how  I  have  been  deceived  in  myself.  Another 
woman  would  have  been  justly  proud  and  happy  in  my  place, 
for  she  would  not  have  had  the  hopes  of  years  to  uproot,  not 
have  had  to  answer  to  her  heart  the  accusation  of  disloyalty  to 
humanity." 

"  We  will  let  that  accusation  rest,"  he  soothed  her.  "  Do 
not  think  that  you  have  failed :  you  never  seemed  so  strong  to 
me  as  now.  There  can  be  no  question  of  conflicting  power 
between  two  equal  hearts  whom  love  unites  in  the  same  des- 
tiny. The  time  ^vill  come  when  this  apparent  discord  will  ap- 
pear to  you  as  a  '  harmony  not  understood.'  But,  until  then, 
I  shall  never  say  a  word  to  you  which  shall  not  be  meant  to 
solve  doubt,  and  allay  fear,  and  strengthen  confidence." 

"  Let  me  go  back,  now,  to  my  mother,"  she  said.  "  Heaven 
pardon  me,  I  had  almost  forgotten  her.  She  wanted  me  to 
bring  her  some  gentians.  It  is  very  late  and  she  will  be 
alarmed." 

He  led  her  back  through  the  tangled,  briery  paths.  She 
took  his  offered  hand  with  a  mechanical  submission,  but  the 
touch  thrilled  her  through  and  through  with  a  sweetness  so 
new  and  piercing,  that  she  reproached  herself  at  each  return, 
as  if  the  sensation  were  forbidden.  "Woodbury  gathered  for 
her  a  bunch  of  the  lovely  fringed  gentian,  with  the  short  au- 
tumn ferns,  and  the  downy,  fragrant  silver  of  the  life-everlast- 
ing. They  walked  side  by  side,  silently,  down  the  meadow, 
and  slowly  up  the  road  to  the  widow's  cottage. 

"  I  will  deliver  the  flowers  myself,"  said  he,  as  they  reached 
the  gate,  "  Besides,  is  it  not  best  that  your  mother  should 
know  of  what  has  passed  ?" 

She  could  not  deny  him.  In  the  next  moment  they  were  in 
the  littk  sitting-room.  Mrs.  Styles  expected  company  to  tea, 
and  took  her  leave  as  soon  as  they  appeared. 

"Mother,  will   thee  see   Mr.    Woodbury?"  said  Hannah, 


406  HANNAH  thubston: 

opening  the  door  into  the  adjoining  room,  where  the  iDvalid 
sat,  comfortably  propped  up  in  her  bed. 

"Thee  knows  I  am  always  glad  to  see  him,"  camo  the 
answer,  in  a  faint  voice. 

They  entered  together,  and  Woodbury  laid  the  flowers  on 
her  bed.  The  old  woman  looked  from  one  to  another  with  a 
glance  which,  by  a  sudden  clairvoyance,  saw  the  timth.  A 
new  light  came  over  her  face.  "  Maxwell !"  she  cried ; 
"  Hannah !" 

"Mother!"  answered  the  daughter,  sinking  on  her  knees 
and  burying  her  face  in  the  bed-clothes. 

Tears  gushed  from  the  widow's  eyes  and  rolled  down  her 
hollow  cheeks.  "  I  see  how  it  is,"  she  said  ;  "  I  prayed  that 
it  might  happen.  The  Lord  blesses  me  once  more  before  I 
die.  Come  here,  Maxwell,  and  take  a  mother's  blessing.  I 
^ve  my  dear  daughter  freely  into  thy  hands." 

Hannah  heard  the  words.  She  felt  that  the  bond,  thng 
consecrated  by  the  blessing  of  her  dying  mother,  dared  not  be 
broken. 


▲  nrOBT   OF  AHSBICAJl^  LIFE.  407 


cnAPTER  xxxn. 

Off   WHICH    ALL   EETEEAT   IS   CUT   OFF. 

"Come  back  tomorrow,  Maxwell,"  the  Widow  Thurston 
had  said,  as  he  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  her  ;  "  come  back, 
and  let  me  hear  what  thee  and  Hannah  have  to  say.  I  am  too 
weak  now  to  talk  any  more.  My  life  has  been  so  little  ac- 
quainted with  sudden  visitations  of  joy,  that  this  knowledge 
takes  hold  of  my  strength.  Thee  may  leave  me  too,  Hannah; 
I  think  I  could  sleep  a  little." 

The  latter  carefully  smoothed  and  arranged  the  pillows,  and 
left  the  invalid  to  repose.  Woodbury  was  waiting  for  her,  in 
the  door  leading  from  the  sitting-room  to  the  haU.  "  I  am 
going  home  now,"  he  said ;  "  can  you  give  me  a  word  of  hope 
and  comfort  on  tlie  way  ?  tell  me  that  you  trust  me  I" 

"Oh,  I  do,  I  do  !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  Do  not  mistake  either 
my  agitation  or  my  silence.  I  believe  that  if  I  could  once  be 
in  harmony  with  myself,  what  I  have  heard  from  your  lips  to- 
day would  make  me  happy.  I  am  like  my  mother,"  she 
added,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "  I  am  more  accustomed  to 
contempt  than  honor." 

He  led  her  into  the  hall  and  closed  the  door  behind  thera. 
He  put  one  arm  protectingly  around  her,  and  she  felt  herself 
supported  against  the  world.  "  Hereafter,  Hannah,"  he  whis- 
pered, "  no  one  can  strike  at  you  except  through  me.  Good- 
by  until  to-morrow  !"  He  bent  his  head  towards  her  face, 
and  their  eyes  met.  His  beamed  with  a  softened  fire,  a  dewy 
leiulerness  and  sweetness,  before  which  her  soul  shivered  and 
tinglfd  in  warm  tlirobs  of  bliss,  so  quick  and  sharp  as  to  touch 
the  verge  of  pain.     A  Avondcrlul,  unknown  fascination  drew 


406  HANWAH  thurstoh: 

her  lips  to  his.  She  felt  the  passionate  pressure ;  her  &ami 
trembled ;  she  heard  the  door  open  and  close  as  in  a  drsAm, 
and  blindly  felt  her  way  to  the  staircase,  where  she  sank  upon 
the  lower  step  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

She  neither  thought,  nor  strove  to  think.  The  kiss  burned 
on  and  on,  and  every  throb  of  her  pulses  seemed  to  break  in 
itarry  radiations  of  light  along  her  nerves.  Dissolving  rings 
of  color  and  splendor  formed  and  faded  under  her  closed  lids, 
and  the  blood  of  a  new  life  rustled  in  her  ears,  as  if  the  spirits 
of  newly-opened  flowers  were  whispering  in  the  summer  wind. 
She  was  lapped  in  a  spell  too  delicious  to  break — an  exquisite 
drunkenness  of  her  being,  beside  which  all  narcotics  would 
have  been  gross.  External  sounds  appealed  no  more  to  her 
senses  ;  the  present,  with  its  unfinished  struggles,  its  torturing 
doubts,  its  prophecies  of  coming  sorrow,  faded  far  away,  and 
her  soul  lay  helpless  and  unresisting  in  the  arras  of  a  single 
sensation. 

All  at  once,  a  keen,  excited  voice,  close  at  hand,  called  her 
name.  It  summoned  her  to  herself  with  a  start  which  took 
away  her  breath. 

"  My  dear  girl !  Good  gracious,  what's  the  matter  I"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Waldo,  who  stood  before  her.  *'  I  saw  your 
mother  was  asleep,  and  Pve  been  hunting  you  all  over  the 
house.     You  were  not  asl  iep,  too  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  was  trying  to  think." 

"  Bless  me,  haven't  you  thought  enough  yet  ?  I  should  say, 
from  the  look  of  your  face,  that  you  had  seen  a  ghost — no,  it 
must  have  been  an  angel !  Don't  look  so,  my  dear,  or  I  shal 
l)e  afraid  that  you  are  going  to  die." 

"  If  I  were  to  die,  it  would  make  all  things  clear,"  Hannah 
ninrston  answered,  with  a  strong  effort  of  self-control ;  "  but 
r  must  first  leani  to  live.  Do  not  be  alarmed  on  my  account 
I  am  troubled  and  anxious  :  I  am  not  my  old  self." 

*'I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Waldo,  tenderly 
*'  You  must  see  the  loss  that  is  coming,  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  us." 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LlF«.  400 

*'  Yes,  I  know  that  ray  mother  can  never  recover,  and  I  begin, 
already,  to  shrink  from  the  parting,  as  if  it  werQ  close  at  hand." 
"  Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Mrs.  Waldo,  melting  into  tears,  "don't 
you  see  the  truth  yet?  Don't  you  see  that  the  parting  i$ 
close  at  hand  ?  I  was  afraid  you  did  not  know  ;  your  mother, 
I  was  sure,  would  not  tell  you ;  but,  putting  myself  in  your 
place,  I  did  not  think  it  right  that  you  should  be  kept  in  igno 
ranee.     She  is  failing  very  fast." 

Hannah  Thurston  grew  A'ery  paJe.  Her  friend  led  her 
through  the  door,  and  out  into  the  little  garden  in  the  rear  of 
the  cottage.  Some  wind,  far  away  to  the  west,  had  lifted 
into  a  low  arch  the  gray  concave  of  cloud,  and  through  this 
arch  the  sinking  sun  poured  an  intense,  angry,  brassy  light 
over  the  tree-tops  and  along  the  hillside  fields.  They  leaned 
against  the  paling  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  and  looked 
silently  on  the  fiery  landscape.  Hannah  was  the  first  to  speak. 
"  You  are  a  good  friend  to  me,"  she  said  ;  "  I  thank  you  for 
the  knowledge.  I  knew  the  blow  must  come,  but  I  hoped 
it  might  be  delayed  a  little  longer.  I  must  bear  it  with  what 
strength  I  may." 

"  God  will  help  you,  Hannah,"  said  Mrs.  Waldo,  wiping 
away  her  tears.  "  He  measures  the  burden  for  the  back  that 
is  to  bear  it." 

Woodbury  walked  home  alone,  without  waiting,  as  usual, 
for  Bute  and  the  buggy.  He  threw  back  his  shoulders  and  in- 
haled long  draughts  of  the  fresher  evening  air,  with  the  relief 
of  u  man  who  has  performed  a  trying  task.  He  had  full  confi- 
dence in  the  completeness  of  his  victory,  yet  he  saw  how  nar- 
jowly  he  had  escaped  defeat.  Had  his  mind  not  been  pre- 
viously occupied  with  this  woman — had  he  not  penetrated  to 
the  secret  of  her  nature — had  he  not  been  bold  enough  to  stake 
his  fortune  on  the  inherent  power  of  his  manhood,  he  must 
have  failed  to  break  down  those  ramparts  of  false  pride  which 
she  had  built  up  around  her  heart.  A  man  of  shallower  knowl- 
edge would  have  endeavored  to  conquer  by  resistance — would 
have  been  stung  b}'  her  fierce  assertion  of  indepeiidenoa 
18 


410  HANNAH  THUKSTON 

utterly  mistakiiig  the  source  from  whence  it  sprang.  Ii  him 
it  simply  aroused  a  glorious  sense  of  power,  which  he  knew 
how  to  curb  to  the  needs  of  the  moment.  It  thrilled  him 
with  admiration,  like  the  magnificent  resistance  of  some  wild 
mare  of  the  steppes,  caught  in  the  hunter's  lasso.  It  betrayed 
aii  iinsur.pected  capacity  for  passion  which  could  satisfy  the 
oraviiigs  of  his  heart.  This  is  no  tame,  insipid,  feminuie  crea- 
ture, he  thought ;  but  a  full-blown  woman,  splendid  in  hor 
powers  splendid  in  her  faults,  and  unapproachable  in  that 
truth  and  tenderness  which  would  yet  bring  her  nature  into 
harmony  with  his  own. 

A  part  of  the  power  he  had  drawn  from  her  seemed  to  be 
absorbed  into  liis  own  being.  The  rapid  flow  of  his  blood 
lifted  his  feet  and  bore  him  with  winged  steps  down  the  valley. 
His  heart  ovei'leaped  the  uncertainties  yet  to  be  solved,  and 
stood  already,  deep  in  the  domestic  future.  After  crossing 
lloaring  Brook,  he  left  the  road  and  struck  across  his  own 
meadows  and  fields  in  order  to  select  a  site,  at  once  convenient 
and  picturesque,  for  the  cottage  which  he  must  build  for  Bute. 
Of  course  there  could  not  be  two  households  at  Lakeside. 

The  next  day  made  good  the  threat  of  the  brassy  sunset 
It  rained  in  wild  and  driving  gusts,  and  the  sky  was  filled  with 
the  lifled  gold  of  the  forests.  Woodbury  paced  his  library 
impatiently,  unable  to  read  or  write,  and  finally  became  so 
restless  that  he  ordered  dinner  an  hour  before  his  accustomed 
time,  to  Mrs.  Carrie  Wilson's  great  dismay.  Bute  was  no  less 
astonished  when  Diamond  and  the  buggy  were  demanded. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Max. !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  you're  not  goin'  out  such 
a  day  as  this  ?     Can't  I  go  for  you  ?" 

"I  have  pressing  business,  Bute,  that  nobody  can  attend  tc 
but  myself.  Don't  let  your  tea  wait  for  me,  Mrs.  Wilson :  1 
may  be  late." 

Leaving  the  happy  pair — happy  in  the  rain  which  kept 
them  all  day  to  each  other — to  tlieir  wonder  and  their  anxious 
Burmises,  Woodbury  drove  through  the  wind,  and  rain,  and 
splashing  mud,  to  the  Wiilow  Thurston's  cottage.      Hannah 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  411 

met  liiiu  with  an  air  of  touching  frankness  and  reliance,  clasp- 
ing his  hand  with  a  tender  firmness  which  ^atoned  for  the 
silence  of  her  lips.  She  looked  pale  and  exhausted,  but 
a  soft,  rosy  flush  passed  over  her  face  and  faded  away. 

"I  will  tell  mother  you  have  come,"  she  said.  The  neit 
moment  she  reappeared  at  the  door  of  the  sick-room,  and 
beckoned  him  to  enter. 

'J'he  widow  was  still  in  bed,  and  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen 
that  she  would  never  leave  it  again.  The  bouquet  of  gentian 
and  life-everlasting  stood  on  a  little  table  near  her  head.  Her 
prim  Quaker  cap  was  uncrumpled  by  the  pillow,  and  a  light 
fawn-colored  shawl  enveloped  her  shoulders.  She  might  have 
been  placed  in  the  gallery  of  the  meeting-house,  among  her 
sister  Friends,  without  a  single  fold  being  changed.  Her  thin 
hands  rested  weakly  on  the  coverlet,  and  her  voice  was 
scarcely  above  a  whisper,  but  the  strong  soul  which  had  sus- 
tained her  life  was  yet  clear  in  her  eye. 

The  daughter  placed  a  chair  for  Woodbury  by  the  bedside. 
He  sat  down  and  took  the  old  woman's  hand  in  both  his  own. 
She  looked  at  him  with  a  gentle,  affectionate,  motherly  benig- 
nity, which  made  his  eyes  dim  with  the  thought  of  his  own 
scarcely -remembered  mother. 

"Maxwell,"  she  said  at  last,  "thee  sees  my  days  on  the 
earth  are  not  many.  Thee  wUl  be  honest  with  me,  therefore, 
and  answer  me  out  of  thy  heart.  I  have  not  had  many  oppor- 
tunities of  seeing  thee,  but  thee  had  my  confidence  from  the 
first.  Thee  has  had  thy  struggles  with  the  world ;  thee  is  old 
enough  to  know  thyself,  and  I  will  believe  that  thee  hast 
leai-ned  to  know  Hannah,  truly.  She  is  not  like  other  girls : 
Bhe  was  always  inclined  to  go  her  own  way,  but  she  has  nevei 
failed  in  her  duty  to  me,  and  I  am  sure  she  will  not  fail  in  ber 
duty  as  thy  wife." 

Hannah,  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  started  at  these 
words.  She  looked  imploringly  at  her  mother,  but  did  not 
■peak. 

"  Yes,  Hannah,"    continued  the  old  woman,   "  I  have  n« 


«12  HA2fNAH    THUKSTON: 

fears  f<if  thee,  when  thee  once  comes  to  understand  thy  lm«i 
place  as  a  woman.  Thee  was  always  more  like  thy  father  than 
like  me.  I  see  that  it  has  not  been  easy  for  thee  to  give  up 
thy  ideas  of  independence,  but  I  am  sure  that  thy  husband 
will  be  gentle  and  forbearing,  so  that  thee  will  hardly  feel  the 
yoke     Will  thee  not,  Maxwell?" 

""  I  will,"  Woodbury  replied.  "I  have  told  your  daughter 
that  I  impose  no  conditions  upon  our  union.  It  was  tha 
purity  and  truth  of  her  nature  which  drew  me  almost  against 
my  will,  to  love  her.  I  have  such  entire  faith  in  that. truth, 
that  I  believe  wc  shall  gradually  come  into  complete  harmony, 
not  only  in  our  feelings  and  aspirations,  but  even  in  our 
external  views  of  life.  I  am  ready  to  sacrifice  whatever 
individual  convictions  may  stand  in  the  way  of  our  mutual  ap- 
proach, and  I  only  ask  of  Hannah  that  she  will  allow,  not 
resist,  the  natural  progress  of  her  heart  in  the  knowledge  of 
itself." 

"  Thee  hears  what  he  says  ?"  said  the  old  woman,  turning 
her  eyes  on  her  daughter.  "  Maxwell  has  answered  the  ques- 
tion I  intended  to  ask:  he  loves  thee,  Hannah,  as  thee 
deserves  to  be  loved.  The  thought  of  leaving  thee  alone  in 
the  world  was  a  cross  which  I  could  not  bring  my  mind  to 
bear.  The  Lord  has  been  merciful.  He  has  led  to  thee  the 
only  man  into  whose  hands  I  can  deliver  thee,  with  the  cer- 
tainty that  he  will  be  thy  stay  and  thy  happiness  when  I  am 
gone.  Tell  me,  my  daughter,  does  thee  answer  his  affection 
in  the  same  spirit  ?" 

"Mother,"  sobbed  Hannah,  "thee  knows  I  would  show 
thee  my  heart  if  I  could.  Maxwell  deserves  all  the  honor  and 
gratitude  I  am  capable  of  giving :  he  has  been  most  noble  and 
just  and  tender  towards  me:  I  cannot  reject  him — it  is  not  in 
my  nature — and  yet — don't  think  hard  of  me,  mother — it  hua 
all  o'jme  so  suddenly,  it  is  so  new  and  strange " 

Here  she  paused  and  covered  her  face,  unable  to  spewb 
further. 

"It  seems  that  I  know  thee  better  than  I  thought,"   said 


A    STOEY    OF    A^rKHlCAN   LIFK.  458 

the  widow,  and  something  like  a  smile  flitted  over  her  wasted 
features.  "Thee  needn't  say  any  thing  more:  my  mind  is 
at  rest.  Come  nearer  to  me,  here,  and  seat  thyself  at  Max- 
well's side.  I  have  a  serious  concern  upon  me,  and  you  most 
both  bear  with  me  while  I  tell  it." 

The  daughter  came  and  seated  herself  at  the  head  of  (lic 
bed,  beside  Woodbury.  The  mother's  right  hand  seemed  to 
feel  for  hers,  and  she  gave  it.  The  other  found  its  way,  she 
knew  not  how,  into  his.  The  old  woman  looked  at  them  both, 
and  the  expression  of  peace  and  resignation  left  her  eyes. 
They  were  filled  with  a  tender  longing  which  she  hesitated  to 
put  into  words.  In  place  of  the  latter  came  tears,  and  then 
her  tongue  was  loosed. 

"  My  children,"  she  whispered,  "  it  is  best  to  be  plain  with 
you.  From  day  to  day  I  expect  to  hear  the  Master's  cjU.  I 
have  done  with  the  things  of  this  life ;  ray  work  is  ov<'r,  and 
now  the  night  .cometh,  when  I  shall  rest.  The  thought  came 
to  me  in  the  silent  watches,  when  I  lifted  up  my  soul  to  the 
Lord  and  thanked  Him  that  He  had  heard  my  prayer.  I 
thought,  then,  that  nothing  more  was  wanting;  and,  indeed, 
it  may  be  unreasonable  of  me  to  ask  more.  But  what  I  ask 
seems  to  be  included  in  Avhat  has  already  happened.  I  know 
the  instabiUty  of  earthly  things,  and  I  should  hke  to  see  with 
these  eyes,  the  security  of  my  daughter's  fate.  Maxwell,  T 
lost  the  little  son  who  would  have  been  so  near  thy  age  had  he 
lived.  Will  thee  give  me  the  right  to  call  the^i  '  son'  in  his 
place  ?  Is  thee  so  sure  of  thy  heart  that  thee  could  give  Han- 
nah thy  name  now?  It  is  a  foolish  wish  of  mine,  I  kno'v  ;  but 
if  you  love  each  other,  children,  you  may  be  glad,  in  ihe 
coming  time,  that  the  poor  old  mother  lived  to  see  and  to 
bless  your  union !" 

Woodbury  was  profoundly  moved.  He  tenderly  kissed  the 
wasted  hand  he  held,  and  said,  in  a  hushed,  reverential  voice : 
"  I  am  sure  of  my  own  heart.  With  your  daughter's  consent, 
it  shall  be  as  you  say." 

"  Mother,  mother!"  cried  Hannah  :  "  I  cannot  leave  thee !'' 


414  HANNAH  ihurston: 

•'  Thee  shall  not,  child.  I  would  not  ask  it  of  thee.  Max- 
well  knows  what  I  mean  :  nothing  shall  be  changed  while 
I  live,  but  you  will  not  be  parted  for  long.  Nay,  perhaps, 
I  am  selfish  in  this  thing.  Tell  me,  honestly,  my  children, 
would  it  make  your  wedding  sad,  when  it  should  be  joy- 
,ful?" 

"  It  will  make  it  sacred,"  "Woodbury  answered. 

"  I  will  not  ask  too  much  of  thee,  Hannah,"  the  widow  con' 
tinned.  "  What  I  wish  would  give  me  a  feeling  of  comfort 
and  security ;  but  I  know  I  ought  to  be  satisfied  without  it.  I 
have  had  my  own  concerns  on  thy  account ;  I  saw  a  thorny 
path  before  thee  if  thee  were  obliged  to  walk  through  life 
alqpe,  and  I  feared  thee  would  never  willingly  bend  thy  neck 
to  wear  the  pleasant  yoke  of  a  wife.  If  I  knew  that  thy  lot 
was  fixed,  in  truth  ;  if  I  could  hear  thee  speak  the  words 
which  tell  me  that  I  have  not  lost  a  daughter  but  gained  a 
son,  the  last  remaining  bitterness  would  be  taken  from  death, 
and  I  would  gladly  arise  and  go  to  my  Father  !" 

All  remaining  power  of  resistance  was  taken  away  from 
Hannah  Thurston.  She  had  yielded  so  far  that  she  could  no 
longer  retreat  with  honor.  Woodbury  had  taken,  almost  even 
before  he  claimed  it,  the  first  plaoo  in  her  thoughts,  and  though 
she  still  scarcely  confessed  to  herself  that  she  loved  him  as 
her  husband  should  be  loved,  yet  her  whole  being  was  pene- 
trated with  the  presentiment  of  coming  love.  If  she  still 
feebly  strove  to  beat  back  the  rising  tide,  it  was  not  from  fear 
of  her  inability  to  return  the  trust  he  gave,  but  rather  a  me- 
chanical eflfbrt  to  retain  the  independence  which  she  felt  to  be 
gradually  slipping  from  her  grasp.  Her  mother's  words 
showed  her  that  she,  also,  foreboded  this  struggle  and  doubted 
its  solution  ;  she  bad,  alas  !  given  her  cause  to  mistrust  the 
unexpected  emotion.  Towards  men — towards  Woodbury, 
especially — she  had  showed  herself  hard  and  mijust  in  that 
mother's  eyes.  Could  she  refuse  to  remove  the  unspoken 
doubt  by  postponing  a  union,  which,  she  acknowledged  to  her- 
self, was  destined  to  come  ?     Could  she  longer  hold  back  her 


A  STOfiTT   OF  AMERICAN   LlFfi.  415 

entire  faith  from  Woodbury,  with  his  parting  kiss  of  yesterdaj 
utill  warm  upon  her  lips  ? 

She  leaned  forward,  and  bent  her  head  upon  the  old  wo 
man's  breast.  "  Mother,"  she  said,  in  a  scaicely  audible  voice, 
"  it  shall  be  as  thee  wishes." 

The  widow  tenderly  stroked  her  dark-brown  hair.  "  If  I 
were  not  sure  it  was  right,  Hannah,"  she  said,  "I  would  g\\e 
thee  back  thy"  consent.  Let  it  be  soon,  pray,  for  I  see  that 
my  sojourn  with  you  is  well-nigh  its  end." 

"Let  it  be  to-morrow,  Hannah,"  Woodbury  then  said, 
•'livery  thing  shall  be  afterwards  as  it  was  before.  I  will  not 
take  you  from  your  mother's  bedside,  but  you  will  simply  give 
me  the  right  to  offer,  and  her  the  right  to  receive,  a  son's  help 
and  comfort." 

It  w^as  so  arranged.  Only  the  persons  most  intimately  con- 
nected with  both — Waldos,  Merryfields,  Bute  and  Carrie- 
were  to  be  informed  of  the  circumstances  and  invited  to  be 
present.  Mr.  Waldo,  of  course,  was  to  solemnize  the  union, 
though  the  widow  asked  that  the  Quaker  form  of  marriage 
should  first  be  repeated  in  her  presence.  She  was  exhausted 
by  the  interview,  and  Woodbury  soon  took  his  leave,  to  give 
the  necessary  announcements. 

Hannah  accompanied  him  to  the  d»or,  and  when  it  closed 
behind  him,  murmured  to  herself: 

"  I  strove  against  the  stream,  and  strove  in  vain — 
Let  the  great  river  bear  me  to  the  mainl" 

The  Waldos  were  alone  in  their  little  parlor — alone,  but 
not  lonely  ;  for  they  were  one  of  those  fortunate  wedded  paiis 
who  never  tire  of  their  own  society.  The  appearance  of 
Woodbury,  out  of  the  wind  and  rain,  was  a  welcome  surprise, 
and  they  both  greeted  him  with  hearty  delight. 

"  Husband,"  cried  i\Irs.  Waldo,  "  do  put  the  poor  horse  into 
our  stable,  beside  Dobbin.  Mr.  Woodbury  will  not  think  ^f 
going  tionie  until  after  tea." 

The  clergyman  was  half-way  thi-ough  the  door  before  the 


416  BAKNAH  THTJRSTOir: 

guest  could  grasp  his  arm.    "  Staj,  if  you  please,**  he  said ;  "1 
have  something  to  say,  at  once,  to  both  of  you.*' 

His  voice  was  so  grave  and  earnest,  that  they  turned 
towards  him  with  a  sudden  alarm.  Something  in  his  &C6 
tranquil! zed   while  it  perplexed  them. 

"  I  once  promised  you,  Mrs.  "Waldo,"  he  continued,  "  that 
your  husband  should  perform  the  marriage  ceremony  for  me. 
The  time  has  come  when  I  can  fulfil  my  promise.  I  am  to  be 
married  to-morrow !" 

The  clergyman's  lips  receded  so  as  to  exhibit,  not  only  all 
of  bis  teeth,  but  also  a  considerable  portion  of  the  gums.  His 
wife's  dark  eyes  expanded,  her  hands  involuntarily  came 
together  in  a  violent  clasp,  and  her  breath  was  suspended. 

"  I  am  to  be  married  to-morrow,"  Woodbury  repeated. 
"  to  Hannah  Thurston." 

Mrs.  Waldo  dropped  into  the  nearest  chair.  "  It's  a  poor 
joke,"  she  said,  at  last,  with  a  feeble  attempt  to  laugh^  "  and 
I  shouldn't  have  believed  you  could  make  it." 

In  a  very  few  words  he  told  them  the  truth.  The  next 
moment,  Mrs.  Waldo  sprang  upon  her  feet,  threw  both  arms 
around  him,  and  kissed  him  tempestuously.  "  I  can't  help  it, 
husband !"  she  cried,  giving  way  to  a  mild  hysterical  fit  of 
laughter  and  tears :  "  It's  so  rarely  things  happen  as  they 
ought,  in  this  world !  What  a  fool  I've  been,  to  think  you 
hated  each  other !  I  shall  never  trust  ray  eyes  again,  no,  nor 
my  ears,  nor  my  stupid  brains.  Fll  warrant  Mis.  Blake  was 
a  deal  sharper  than  I  have  been  ;  see  if  she  is  surprised  when 
you  send  her  word !  Oh,  you  dear  people,  how  happy  you 
have  made  me — I'd  rather  it  should  come  so  than  that  hus« 
band  should  get  a  thousand  converts,  and  build  the  biggest 
church  in  Ptolemy !" 

Mr.  Waldo  also  was  moved,  in  his  peculiar  fashion.  He 
cleared  his  throat  as  if  about  to  commence  a  prayer,  walked 
tl)»ee  times  to  the  door  and  back,  squeezing  Woodbury's 
hand  afresh  at  each  return,  and  finally  went  to  the  window 
and  remarked  :    "  It  is  very  stormy  to-day." 


A    BTOEY    OF    AMEBICAN    LIPB.  41 7 

III  proportion  as  the  good  people  recovered  from  their 
happy  aaazement,  Woodbury  found  it  diflScult-to  tear  himseli 
away.  They  stormed  him  with  questions  about  the  rise  and 
progress  of  his  attachment,  which  his  sense  of  delicacy  for- 
bade him  to  answer.  "  It  is  enough,"  he  said,  "  that  we  love 
each  other,  and  that  we  are  to  be  married  to-morrow." 
As  he  turned  his  horse's  head  towards  Ptolemy,  a  figure 
wraiiped  in  an  old  cloak  and  with  a  shapeless  quilted  hood 
upon  the  head,  appeared  on  the  plank  sidewalk  hastening 
in  the  direction  of  the  widow's  cottage.  It  was  Mrs. 
Waldo. 

The  Merr3rfields  were  also  at  home  when  he  called.  Their 
life  had,  of  late,  been  much  more  quiet  and  subdued  than  former- 
ly, and  hence  they  have  almost  vanished  out  of  this  history  ; 
but,  fiom  the  friendly  relation  which  they  bore  to  Hannah 
Thurston,  they  could  not  well  be  omitted  from  the  morrow's 
occasion.  The  news  was  unexpected,  but  did  not  seem  to 
astonish  them  greatly,  as  they  were  both  persons  of  slow  per- 
ceptions, and  had  not  particularly  busied  their  minds  about 
either  of  the  parties. 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  very  glad,  as  it  were,"  said  Mr.  Merryfield. 
"  There  are  not  many  girls  like  Hannah  Thurston,  and  shtj 
deserves  to  be  well  provided  for." 

"  Yes,  it's  a  good  thing  for  her,"  remarked  his  wife,  with 
a  little  touch  of  malice,  which,  however,  was  all  upon  th« 
surface;  "but  Women's  Rights  will  be  what  they  alivaya 
was,  if  their  advocates  give  them  up." 

Darkness  was  setting  down,  and  the  rain  fell  in  torrents,  as 
Woodbury  reached  Lakeside.  Bute,  who  had  been  coming 
to  the  door  every  five  minutes  for  the  last  hour,  had  heard  the 
rattling  of  wheels  through  the  storm,  and  the  Irishman 
was  already  summoned  to  take  charge  of  the  horse.  In  tho 
sitting-room  it  was  snug,  and  bright,  and  cheerful.  A  wood- 
fire  blazed  on  the  hearth,  and  Mrs.  Carrie,  with  a  silk  handkoi,- 
chief  tied  under  her  chin,  was  dodging  about  the  tea-table. 
By  the  kindly  glow  in  his  heart  towards  these  two  happy 
18*  - 


418  iiANXAH  xnuRSTOur: 

creatures,  Woodbury  felt  that  Ins  cure  was  complete;  theii 
bliss  no  longer  had  power  to  disturb  him. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  here  !"  he  said.  "  You  really  make  the 
Louse  home-like,  Mrs.  Wilson." 

Carrie's  eyes  sparkled  and  her  cheeks  reddened  with  de^ 
ight.  Bute  thought :  "  He's  had  no  unlucky  business,  after 
all."     But  he  was  discreet  enough  to  ask  no  questions. 

After  tea,  Woodbury  did  not  go  into  the  library,  as  usual. 
He  drew  a  chair  towards  the  fire,  and  for  a  while  watched  Mrs. 
WiI?on's  fingers,  as  they  rapidly  plied  the  needles  upon  a  pair 
of  winter  socks  for  Bute.  The  latter  sat  on  the  other  side  ol 
the  fire,  reading  Dana's  "  Two  Years  before  the  Mast." 

"Bute,"  said  Woodbury,  suddenly,  "do  you  think  we  have 
room  for  another,  in  the  house  ?" 

To  his  surprise,  Bute  blushed  up  to  the  temples,  and  seemed 
embarrassed  how  to  answer.     He  looked  stealthily  at  Carrie. 

Woodbury  smiled,  and  hastened  to  release  him  from  hig 
error.  "  Because,"  said  he,  "  you  brought  something  to  Lake- 
side more  contagious  than  your  fever.  I  have  caught  it,  and 
now  I  am  going  to  marry." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Max.,  you  don't  mean  it !  It's  not  Miss  Amelia 
Smith?" 

Woodbury  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  How  can  you  think  of  such  a  thing,  Bute  ?"  exclaimed  his 
wife.  "There's  only  one  woman  in  all  Ptolemy  worthy  of 
Mr.  Woodbury,  and  yet  I'm  afraid  it  isn't  her." 

*•  Who,  Mrs.  Wilson  ?" 

"  You  won't  be  offended,  Sir,  will  you  ?  I  mean  Hannah 
Thurston." 

"  You  have  guessed  it  I" 

Carrie  gave  a  little  scream  and  dropped  hef  knitting.  Bute 
tried  to  laugh,  but  something  caught  in  his  throat,  and  in  hif 
9tfT  ts  to  swallow  it  the  water  came  into  his  eyes. 


i    8TORT    OF   AMERICAN   LIFK.  4l9 


CHAPTER     XXYTTT. 

OOirCKBNINQ    UABRIAGB,    DEATH,    GOSSIP,    AlTD    OOUfa    HOME. 

The  occasion  which  called  the  few  friends  together  at  the 
cottage,  the  next  morning,  was  sad  and  touching,  as  well  aa 
joyful.  At  least,  each  one  felt  that  the  usual  cheerful  sjnnpa- 
thy  with  consummated  love  would  be  out  of  place,  in  circum- 
stances so  unusual  and  solemn.  The  widow  felt  that  she  was 
robbing  her  daughter's  marriage  of  that  sunshine  which  of 
right  belonged,  to  it,  but  in  this,  as  in  all  other  important  de- 
cisions of  life,  she  was  guided  by  "  the  spirit,"  She  perceived, 
indeed,  that  Hannah  had  not  yet  reached  the  full  consciousness 
of  her  love — that  the  fixed  characteristics  'of  her  mind  fought 
continually  against  her  heart,  and  would  so  fight  while  any 
apparent  freedom  of  will  remained ;  and,  precisely  for  this  rea- 
son, the  last  exercise  of  maternal  authority  was  justified  to  her 
own  soul.  In  the  clairvoyance  of  approaching  death  she 
looked  far  enough  into  the  future  to  know  that,  without  this 
bond,  her  daughter's  happiness  was  uncertain :  with  it,  she 
saw  the  struggling  elements  resolve  themselves  into  harmony, 

"Woodbury  suspected  the  mother's  doubt,  though  he  did  not 
share  it  to  the  same  extent.  He  believed  that  the  fierce- 
ness of  the  struggle  was  over.  The  chain  was  forged,  and  by 
careful  forbearance  and  tenderness  it  might  be  imperceptiblj 
clasped.  There  were  still  questions  to  be  settled,  but  ho  had 
already  abdicated  the  right  of  control ;  he  had  intrusted  their 
solution  to  the  natural  operation  of  time  and  love.  He  would 
neither  ofter  nor  accept  any  express  stipulations  of  rights,  for 
this  one  promise  embiaced  them  all.  Her  nature  could  only 
be  soothed  to  content  in  its  new  destiny  by  the  deeper  knowl- 


490  HAJfNAH    THURSTON: 

edge  vvhicl)  that  destiny  would  bring,  and  therefore,  the 
mother's  request  was  perhaps  best  for  both.  It  only  imposed 
upon  him  a  more  guarded  duty,  a  more  watchful  self-contro), 
in  the  newness  of  their  relation  to  each  other. 

Mrs.  Waldo,  unable  to  sleep  all  night  from  the  excitemeiil 
)f  her  honest  heart,  was  with  Hannah  Thurston  early  in  the 
norning.  It  was  as  well,  no  doubt,  that  the  latter  was  allowed 
10  time  for  solitary  reflection,  as  the  hour  approached.  Bj 
ten  o'clock  the  other  friends,  who  had  first  driven  to  the  Cim- 
merian Parsonage,  made  their  appearance  in  the  little  sitting- 
room.  Woodbury  came  in  company  with  Mr.  Waldo,  followed 
by  Bute  and  Carrie.  He  was  simply  dressed  in  black,  without 
the  elaborate  waistcoat  and  cravat  of  a  bridegroom.  But  for 
the  cut  of  his  coat  collar,  the  Friends  themselves  would  not 
have  found  fault  with  his  apparel.  His  face  was  calm  and 
serene :  whatever  emotion  he  felt  did  not  appear  on  the 
surface. 

Mrs.  Merryfield,  in  a  lavender-colored  silk,  which  made  hei 
sallow  complexion  appear  worse  than  ever,  occasionally  raised 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  although  there  were  no  signs  of 
unusual  moisture  in  them. 

The  door  to  the  invalid's  room  was  open,  and  the  bed  had 
been  moved  near  it,  so  that  she  could  both  see  and  converse 
wit\  the  company  in  the  sitting-room.  Her  spotless  book- 
muslin  handkerchief  and  shawl  of  white  crape-silk  were 
scarcely  whiter  than  her  face,  but  a  deep  and  quiet  content 
dwelt  in  her  eyes  and  gave  its  sweetness  to  her  feeble  voice. 
She  greeted  them  all  with  a  grateful  and  kindly  cheerfulness. 
The  solemnity  of  the  hour  was  scarcely  above  the  earnest 
evel  of  her  life ;  it  was  an  atmosphere  in  which  her  soul 
moved  light  and  free. 

Presently  Hannah  Thurston  came  into  the  room.  She  was 
dressed  in  white  muslin,  with  a  very  plain  lace  collar  and  knot 
of  white  satin  ribbon.  Her  soft  dark  hair,  unadorned  by  a 
single  flower,  was  brought  a  little  further  forward  on  the  tem- 
ples, giving  a  gentler  feminine  outline  to  her  brow.     Her  fac« 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN    UPB.  42 1 

iras  composed  and  pale,  but  for  a  spot  of  red  on  each  cheek, 
and  a  singularly  vague,  weary  expression  in  her  eyes.  When 
Woodbury  took  her  hand  it  was  icy  cold.  She  received  the 
greetings  of  the  others  quietly,  and  then  went  forward  to  thr 
bedside,  at  the  beckon  of  her  mother.  The  latter  had  beet 
allowed  to  direct  the  ceremony  according  to  her  wish,  and 
the  time  had  now  arrived. 

The  bridal  pair  took  their  seats  in  the  sitting-room,  side  by 
side,  and  facing  the  open  door  where  the  invalid  lay.  The 
guests,  on  either  side  of  them,  formed  a  half-circle,  so  arranged 
that  she  could  see  thera  all.  She,  indeed,  seemed  to  be  the 
officiating  priestess,  on  whom  depended  the  solemnization  of 
the  rite.  After  a  few  moments  of  silence,  such  as  is  taken  for 
worship  in  Quaker  meetings,  she  began  to  speak.  Her  voice 
gathered  strength  as  she  proceeded,  and  assumed  the  clear, 
chanting  tone  with  which,  in  former  years,  she  had  been  wont 
to  preach  from  the  gallery  where  she  sat  among  the  women- 
elders  of  the  sect. 

"  My  friends,"  she  said,  "  I  feel  moved  to  say  a  few  words 
to  you  all.  I  feel  that  you  have  not  come  here  without  a 
realizing  sense  of  the  occasion  which  has  called  you  together, 
and  that  your  hearts  are  prepared  to  sympathize  with  those 
which  are  now  to  be  joined  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord.  I  have 
asked  of  them  that  they  allow  mine  eyes,  in  the  short  time 
that  is  left  to  me  for  the  things  of  earth,  to  look  upon  their 
union.  When  I  ha\e  seen  that,  I  can  make  my  peace  with 
the  world,  and,  although  I  have  not  been  in  all  things  a  faith- 
ful servant,  I  can  hope  that  the  joy  of  the  Lord  will  not  be 
shut  out  from  my  soul.  I  feel  the  approach  of  the  peace  that 
passeth  understanding,  and  would  not  wish  that,  for  my 
sake,  the  house  of  gladness  be  made  the  house  of  mourning. 
Let  your  hearts  be  not  disturbed  by  the  thought  of  mc.  Re- 
joice, rather,  that  the  sou  I  lost  so  long  ago  is  found  at  the 
eleventh  hour,  and  that  the  prop  for  which  I  sought,  for 
strength  to  walk  through  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow,  is  merci- 
fully placed  in  my  han<l.>.     For  I  say  unto  you  all,  the  pure 


(22  HANNAH   THUKSTON  . 

affection  of  the  human  heart  is  likest  the  love  c  f  the  lleavonlj 
Father,  and  they  who  bestow  most  of  the  one  shall  deserve 
most  of  the  other  !" 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  made  a  sign  with  her  hand.  The 
heaits  of  the  hearers  were  thrilled  with  a  solemn,  reverential 
;  we,  as  if  something  more  than  a  human  presence  overshadowed 
them.  "Woodbury  and  Hannah  arose,  in  obedience  to  her 
i*ignal,  and  moved  a  step  towards  her.  The  former  had  learned 
tho  simple  formula  of  the  Friends,  and  vras  ready  to  perform 
his  part.  Taking  Hannah's  right  hand  in  his  own,  he  spoke 
in  a  clear,  low,  earnest  voice  :  "  In  the  presence  of  the  Lord, 
and  these,  our  friends,  I  take  Hannah  Thurston  by  the  hand, 
promising,  through  Divine  assistance,  to  be  unto  her  a  loving 
and  faithful  husband,  xmtil  Death  shall  separate  us." 

It  was  now  the  woman's  turn.  Perhaps  Woodbury  may 
liave  felt  a  pulse  fluttering  in  the  hand  he  held,  but  no  one  saw 
•I  tremor  of  weakness  in  her  frame  or  heard  it  in  the  firm, 
perfect  sweetness  of  her  voice.  She  looked  in  his  eyes  as  she 
pronounced  the  words,  as  if  her  look  should  carry  to  his  heart 
the  significance  of  the  vow.  When  she  had  spoken,  Mr.  Waldo 
rose,  and  performed  the  scarcely  less  simple  ceremonial  of  the 
Cimmerian  Church.  After  he  had  pronounced  them  man  and 
wife,  with  his  hands  resting  on  theirs  linked  in  each  other,  he 
made  a  benedictory  prayer.  He  spoke  manfully  to  the  end, 
though  liis  eyes  overflowed,  and  his  practised  voice  threatened 
at  every  moment  to  break.  His  hearers  had  melted  long  bo- 
fore  :  only  the  Widow  Thurston  and  the  newly-wedded  pair 
preserved  their  composure.  They  were  beyond  the  reach  o 
ientiment,  no  matter  how  tender.  None  of  the  others  sus- 
pected what  a  battle  had  been  fought,  nor  what  deeper  issues 
were  involved  in  the  victory. 

The  two  then  moved  to  the  bedside,  and  the  old  w.man 
kissed  them  both.  "  Mother,"  said  Woodbury,  "  let  me  be  a 
Bon  to  you  in  truth  as  in  name." 

"Iiichard!"  she  cried,  "  my  dear  boy!  Thee  is  welcome! 
than  Kichiird,  for  Ilamiah's  sake.     Children,  have  faith  in  each 


A    STOBY    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  428 

Other — bear  each  other's  burdens.  Hannah,  is  there  peace  in 
thy  heart  now  ?" 

"  Mother,  I  liave  promised,"  she  answered  ;  "I  have  given 
my  life  into  Maxwell's  hands  :  peace  will  come  to  mer" 

"  The  Lord  give  it  to  thee,  as  He  hath  given  it  to  me !" 
•Ihe  closed  her  eyes,  utterly  exhausted,  but  happy. 

The  marriage  certificate  was  then  produced  and  signed  by 
those  present,  after  which  they  took  their  leave.  Woodbury 
remained  until  evening,  assisting:  his  wife  in  her  attendance  on 
tlie  invali'l,  or  keeping  her  company  in  the  sitting-room,  when 
the  latter  slept.  He  said  nothing  of  his  love,  or  his  new  claim 
upon  her.  Rightly  judging  that  her  nature  needed  rest,  after 
the  severe  tension  of  the  past  week,  he  sought  to  engage  her 
in  talk  that  would  call  her  thoughts  away  from  herself.  He 
was  so  successful  in  this  that  the  hours  fled  fast,  and  when  he 
left  with  the  falling  night,  to  return  to  Lakeside,  she  felt  as  if 
a  stay  had  been  withdrawn  from  her. 

The  next  morning  he  was  back  again  at  an  early  hour,  taking 
his  place  as  one  of  the  household,  as  quietly  and  unobtrusively 
as  if  he  had  long  been  accustomed  to  it.  Another  atmosphere 
came  into  the  cottage  with  him — a  sense  of  strength  and  reli- 
ance, and  tender,  protecting  care,  which  was  exceedingly 
grateful  to  Hannah.  The  chaos  of  her  emotions  was  already 
beginning  to  subside,  or,  rather,  to  set  towards  her  husband  in 
a  current  that  grew  swifter  day  after  day.  The  knowledge 
that  her  fate  was  already  determined  silenced  at  once  what 
would  otherwise  have  been  her  severest  conflict;  her  chief 
remaining  task  was  to  reconcile  the  cherished  aims  of  her 
Diind  with  the  new  sphere  of  duties  which  encompassed  her 
life.  At  present,  however,  even  this  task  must  be  postponed 
She  dared  think  of  nothing  but  her  mother,  and  Wood- 
bury's share  in  the  cares  and  duties  of  the  moment  became 
more  and  more  welcome  and  grateful.  It  thrilled  her  with  a 
*Avoet  sense  of  the  kinship  of  their  hearts,  when  she  heard  him 
address  the  old  woman  as  "  mother" — when  his  arm,  as  ten* 
der  as  strong,  lif\ed  that  mother  from  the  bed  to  the  rocking 


424  HANNAH  thubston: 

chair,  and  back  acrain — when  she  saw  the  wasted  face  brighten 
at  his  coming,  and  heard  tlie  voice  of  wandering  memory  call 
him,  in  the  wakeful  watches  of  the  night.  She,  too,  counted 
the  minutes  of  the  morning  until  he  appeared,  and  felt  the 
twilight  drop  more  darkly  before  the  cottage- windows  after 
he  had  gone. 

But,  as  the  widow  had  promised,  she  did  not  part  them 
long.  On  the  fifth  day  after  the  marriage  she  sank  peacefully 
to  rest,  to  wards  sunset,  witli  a  gradual,  painless  fading  out  of 
life,  which  touched  the  hearts  of  the  watchers  only  with  the 
solemn  beauty  and  mystery  of  death,  not  with  its  terror. 
Her  external  consciousness  had  ceased,  some  hours  before,  but 
she  foresaw  the  coming  of  the  inevitable  hour,  and  there  was 
a  glad  resignation  in  her  farewell  to  her  daughter  and  hei 
newly-found  son.  "  Love  one  another  !"  were  her  last,  faintly- 
whispered  words,  as  her  eyes  closed  on  both. 

Hannah  shrank  from  leaving  the  cottage  before  the  last 
rites  had  been  performed,  and  Miss  Sophia  Stevenson,  as 
well  as  Mrs.  Waldo,  offered  to  remain  with  her.  Woodbury 
took  charge  of  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral,  which  were 
simple  and  unostentatious,  as  became  the  habit  of  her  sect. 

A  vague  impression  of  what  had  happened  was  floating 
through  Ptolemy,  but  was  generally  received  with  an  incredu- 
lity far  from  consistent  with  the  avidity  of  village  gossip. 
The  death  of  the  Widow  Thurston  had  been  anticipated,  but 
the  previous  marriage  of  her  daughter  was  an  event  so  as- 
tounding— so  completely  unheralded  by  the  usual  prognostica- 
tions, and  so  far  beyond  the  reach  of  any  supposable  cause — 
that  the  mind  of  Ptolemy  was  slow  to  receive  it  as  truth.  By 
the  day  of  the  funeral,  however,  the  evidences  had  accumulated 
to  an  extent  that  cliallenged  further  doubt.  But  doubtei  s  ai\d 
believers  alike  determined  to  profit  by  the  occasion  to  gratify 
their  curiosity  under  the  Christian  pretext  of  showing  respect 
to  the  departed.  The  rumor  had  even  reached  Atauga  City 
by  the  evening  stage,  and  the  blisses  Smith,  having  recently 
•applied  them  elves  with  lilac  dresses,  which,  as  a  half-monrn 


A    STORV    OF   AMKKICAN   LIFB.  425 

Ing  color,  would  uot  be  inappropriate,  resolved  alao  to  attend 
the  funeral  services. 

As  the  hour  drew  nigh,  the  road  in  front  oT  the  little  cot. 
tage  was  crowded  with  vehicles.  It  was  a  mild,  sunny  O©. 
tober  afternoon,  and  as  the  room  in  which  the  corpse  lay  would 
not  contain  a  tenth  part  of  the  guests,  they  filled  the  yard  and 
garden  and  even  the  side-walk  in  front,  entering  the  house  as 
they  arrived,  to  take  that  silent  look  at  the  dead  which  is  sug- 
gested, let  us  believe,  more  by  human  sympathy  than  by  hu- 
man curiosity.  And,  indeed,  a  solemn  loveliness  of  repose 
rested  on  the  thin,  composed  features  of  the  corpse.  All 
shadow  of  pain  had  passed  away,  and  an  aspect  of  ineffable 
peace  and  comfort  had  settled  in  its  place.  Her  hands  were 
laid,  one  over  the  other,  upon  her  breast — not  with  the  stony 
pressure  of  death,  but  as  if  in  the  light  unconsciousness  of 
sleep.  Upon  the  coffin-lid  lay  a  wreath  of  life-everlasting,  its 
gray,  silvery  leaves  and  rich,  enduring  odor,  harmonizing  well 
with  the  subdued  tastes  and  the  quiet  integrity  of  the  sect  to 
which  the  old  widow  had  belonged.  Even  the  Rev.  Lemuel 
Styles,  to  whom  the  tei-m  "  Quaker"  implied  a  milder  form 
of  infidelity,  stood  for  a  long  time  beside  the  coffin,  absorbed 
in  the  beauty  of  the  calm,  dead  face,  and  murmured  as  he 
turned  away :  "  She  hath  found  Peace." 

Two  old  Friends  from  Tiberius,  with  their  wives,  were  also 
in  attendance,  and  the  latter  devoted  themselves  to  Hannah, 
as  if  it  were  a  special  duty  imposed  upon  them.  Before  the 
coffin-lid  was  screwed  down,  they  sat  for  some  time  beside  the 
corpse,  with  their  handkerchiefs  pressed  tightly  over  their 
mouths.  Their  husbands,  with  Mr.  Waldo  and  Merryfield, 
bore  the  coffin  to  the  hearse.  The  guests  gathered  around 
and  in  front  of  the  house  now  began  to  open  their  eyes  and 
prick  their  ears.  The  daughter  must  presently  appear,  as  first 
of  the  mourners,  and  in  company  with  her  husband,  if  she 
were  really  married.  They  had  not  long  to  wait.  Hannah, 
leaning  on  Woodbury's  arm,  issued  from  the  front  door  of 
the  cottage,  and  slowly  passed  down  the  gravel  walk  to  the 


426  t:A.NNA.H   THUBSTON* 

carriage  in  waiting.  Her  unveiled  face  was  pale  and  prc> 
foundly  sad ;  her  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  none  of  the  com 
pany  caught  their  full  glance.  Woodbury's  countenance  in- 
dicated the  grave  and  tender  sympathy  which  filled  his  heart 
He  saw  the  spectators,  without  seeming  to  notice  them, 
and  the  keenest  curiosity  was  baffled  by  his  thorough  self 
possession.  Both  were  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  sor 
row  and  resignation,  in  which  all  expression  of  their  new 
nuptial  relation  was  lost.  They  might  have  been  married  for 
years,  so  far  as  any  thing  could  be  guessed  from  their  manner. 

The  other  carriages  gradually  received  their  occupants  and 
followed,  in  the  order  of  their  nearness  to  the  deceased, 
whether  in  the  bonds  of  sect  or  those  of  friendship.  Among 
these  the  Waldos  claimed  a  prominent  place  and  the  Merry- 
fields  were  close  behind  them.  The  procession  was  unusually 
large ;  it  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  all  Ptolemy  were  present.  On 
reaching  the  Cimmerian  churchyard,  Bute  and  the  farmers 
whose  lands  adjoined  Lakeside  were  on  hand  to  assist  the 
mourners  and  their  friends  in  alighting  from  the  carriages,  and 
to  take  care  of  the  horses.  The  grave  was  dug  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  those  of  the  Cimmerians,  in  a  plot  of  soft,  un- 
broken turf  Supports  were  laid  across  its  open  mouth,  and 
when  the  coffin  had  been  deposited  thereon,  preparatory  to  being 
lowered,  and  the  crowd  had  gathered  in  a  silent  ring,  enclosing 
the  mourners  and  their  immediate  friends,  one  of  the  Friends 
took  off  his  broad-brimmed  hat  and  in  simple,  eloquent  words, 
bore  testimony  to  the  truth  and  uprightness,  to  the  Christian 
trust  and  Christian  patience  of  the  departed.  The  two  women 
again  pressed  their  handkerchiefs  violently  upon  their  mouths, 
while  he  spoke.  Woodbury  took  off  his  hat  and  reverently 
bent  his  head,  though  the  other  Friend  stood  bolt  upright  and 
remained  covered. 

Mr.  Waldo  then  followed,  with  an  earnest,  heart-felt  prayer 
He  was  scarcely  aware  how  much  he  risked  in  thus  conse 
srating  the  burial  of  a  Quaker  woman,  and  it  was  fortunate 
that  no  laxity  of  doctrine  could  be  discovered  in  the  biief  sen- 


A   STOB^    OF   AMERICAN  LIFX.  487 

tences  he  uttered.  It  was  not  Doctrine,  but  Religion,  which 
inspired  his  words,  and  the  most  intolerant  of  *his  hearers  felt 
their  power  while  secretly  censuring  the  act.  He,  too,  refer- 
red to  the  widow's  life  as  an  example  of  pious  resignation,  ana 
prayed  that  the  same  Christian  virtue  might  come  to  dwell  in 
the  heai'ts  of  all  present. 

When  the  coflin  had  been  lowered,  and  the  first  spadefol 
of  earth,  though  softly  let  down  into  the  grave,  dropped  upon 
the  lid  with  a  muffled,  hollow  roll,  Hannah  started  as  if  in  pain, 
and  clung  with  both  hands  to  her  husband's  arm.  He  bent 
his  head  to  her  face  and  whispered  a  word ;  what  it  was,  no 
other  ear  than  hers  succeeded  in  hearing.  The  dull,  rumbling 
sounds  continued,  until  the  crumbling  whisper  of  the  particles 
of  earth  denoted  that  the  coffin  was  forever  covered  from 
sight.  Then  they  turned  away,  leaving  the  mild  Autumn 
sun  to  shine  on  the  new  mound,  and  the  thrush  to  pipe  his 
broken  song  over  the  silence  of  the  dead. 

The  moment  the  churchyard  gate  was  passed,  Ptolemy  re- 
turned  to  its  gossip.  The  incredulous  fact  was  admitted,  but 
the  mystery  surrounding  it  was  not  yet  explained.  In  the  few 
families  who  considered  themselves  "the  upper  circle,"  and 
were  blessed  with  many  daughters,  to  none  of  whom  the  rich 
owner  of  Lakeside  had  been  indifferent,  there  was  great  and 
natural  exasperation. 

"  I  consider  it  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence,"  said  Mrs. 
Hamilton  Bue  to  her  husband,  as  they  drove  homewards ; 
"for  a  man  like  him,  who  knows  what  society  is,  and  ought 
to  help  to  purtect  it  from  &uaticism,  to  marry  a  strong-minded 
woman  like  she  is.  And  after  all  he  said  against  their  doc- 
trines !     I  should  call  it  hypocritical,  I  should  I" 

"  Martha,"  her  husband  answered,  "  If  I  were  you,  I 
wouldn't  say  much  about  it,  for  a  while  yet.  He's  only  in- 
sured in  the  Saratoga  Mutual  for  a  year,  to  try  it." 

Mrs.  Styles  consoled  her  sister,  Miss  Legrand,  who  at  one 
time  allowed  herself  dim  hopes  of  interesting  Woodbury  in 
her  behalf.     **  I  always  feared  that  he  was  not  entirely  firm  in 


^28  HAifXAH  thukston: 

the  faith  ;  he  never  seemed  inclined  to  talk  with  Mr.  Stylei 
about  it  She,  yon  know,  is  quite  an  Infidel,  and,  of  course, 
he  could  not  have  been  ignorant  of  it.  It's  very  sad  to  see  a 
man  so  misled — 'the  lust  of  the  eye,'  Harriet." 

"  I  should  say  it  was  witchcraft,"  Harriet  remarked,  with  a 
snappish  tone ;  "  she's  a  very  plain-looking  girl — like  an  owl 
with  her  big  gray  eyes  and  straight  hair."  Miss  Legrand 
wore  aers  in  ropy  ringlets  of  great  length. 

*'  1  shouldn't  have  believed  it  if  I  hadn't  seen  it  with  my 
own  eyes !"  exclaimed  Miss  Celia  Smith  to  her  sister,  Miss 
Amelia.  "  I  always  thought  they  were  dead  set  against  each 
other."  Miss  Celia  was  more  inclined  to  be  emphatic  than 
choice  in  her  expressions. 

"  They  made  believe  they  were,"  her  sister  replied.  "  She  must 
have  been  afraid  he'd  back  out,  after  all,  or  they  wouldn't  have 
been  married  so,  right  off  the  reel.  It  was  her  last  chance: 
she's  on  the  wrong  side  of  thirty-five,  I  should  say."  Miss 
Amelia  was  thirty-three,  herself,  although  she  only  confessed 
♦/»  twenty-five.  The  memory  of  a  certain  sleigh-ride  the 
winter  before,  during  which  her  incessant  fears  ot  an  overturn 
r>bliged  Woodbury  to  steady  her  with  his  arm,  was  fresh  in 
her  mind,  with  all  its  mingled  sweet  and  bitter.  Severa 
virgin  hearts  shared  the  same  thought,  as  the  carriages  went 
liomeward — tliat  it  was  a  shame,  so  it  was,  that  this  strong 
minded  woman,  whom  nobody  imagined  ever  could  be  a  rival, 
should  sneak  into  the  fold  by  night  and  carry  off  the  pick  of 
the  masculine  flock ! 

Meanwhile,  the  objects  of  all  this  gossip  returned  to  th« 
desolate  cottage.  When  they  entered  the  little  sitting-room, 
1  lannah's  composure  gave  way,  under  the  overwhelming  sense 
of  her  loss  which  rushed  upon  her,  as  she  saw  that  every  thing 
was  restored  to  its  usual  place,  and  the  new  life,  without  her 
motlier,  had  commenced.  Her  tears  flowed  without  restraint, 
and  lier  husband  allowed  the  emotion  to  exhaust  itself  before 
he  attempted  consolation.  But  at  last  he  took  her,  still  sob- 
bing, to  his  breast,  and  silently  upheld  her. 


A   STORY   OF   AMERICAN  LIM!.  49l 

"  Hannah,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  wife,  how  can  I  leave  you  here 
alone,  to  these  sad  associations  ?  This  can  no*  longer  be  your 
home.  Come  to  me  with  your  burden,  and  let  me  help  you 
to  bear  it." 

"  Oh,  Maxwell,"  she  answered,  "  you  are  my  help  and  my 
comfort.  No  one  else  has  the  same  right  to  share  my  sorrow. 
My  place  is  beside  you :  I  will  try  to  fill  it  as  I  ought :  but — 
Maxwell — can  I,  dare  I  enter  your  home  as  a  bride,  coming 
thus  directly  from  the  grave  of  my  mother  ?" 

"  You  will  bring  her  blessing  in  the  freshness  of  its  sanc- 
tity," he  said.  "  Understand  me,  Hannah.  In  the  reverence 
for  your  sorrow,  my  love  is  patient.  Enter  my  home,  now,  as 
the  guest  of  my  heart,  giving  me  only  the  right  to  soothe  and 
comfort,  until  you  can  hear,  without  reproach,  the  voice  of 
love." 

His  noble  consideration  for  her  grief  and  her  loneliness 
melted  Hannah's  heart.  Through  all  the  dreary  sense  of  her 
loss  penetrated  the  gratitude  of  love.  She  lifted  her  arms 
and  clasped  them  about  his  neck.  "Take  me,  my  dear  hus- 
band," she  whispered,  "  take  me,  rebellious  as  I  have  been, 
unworthy  as  I  am,  and  teach  me  to  deserve  your  magnanimity." 

He  took  her  home  that  evening,  under  the  light  of  the  rising 
moon,  down  the  silence  of  the  valley,  through  the  gathering 
mists  of  the  meadows,  and  under  the  falling  of  the  golden 
leaves.  The  light  of  Lakeside  twinkled,  a  ruddy  star,  to  greet 
thorn,  and  with  its  brightening  ray  stole  into  her  heart  th« 
first  presentiment  of  Woman's  Home. 


4M  HANNAH  THUBSTOV; 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

CONCEBNING   THE   NEW   HOUSEHOLD   OF   LAKBSIDB. 

In  a  day  or  two  all  the  familiar  articles  of  furniture  which 
Hannah  desired  to  retain,  were  transferred  to  Lakeside  with  her 
personal  effects,  and  the  cottage  was  closed  until  a  new  ten- 
ant could  be  found.  In  the  first  combined  shock  of  grief  and 
change,  the  secluded  beauty  of  her  new  home  was  especially 
grateful.  The  influences  of  Nature,  no  less  than  the  tender  at- 
tentions of  her  husband,  and  the  quiet,  reverent  respect  of  Bute 
and  Carrie,  gradually  soothed  and  consoled  her.  Day  after 
day  the  balmy  southwest  wind  blew,  hardly  stirring  the 
smoky  purple  of  the  air,  through  which  glimmered  the  float- 
ing drifts  of  gossamer  or  the  star-like  tufts  of  wandering 
down.  The  dead  flowers  saw  their  future  resurrection  in 
these  winged,  emigrating  seeds;  the  trees  let  fall  the  loosened 
splendor  of  their  fohage,  knowing  that  other  summers  were 
eheatlied  in  the  buds  left  behind  ;  even  the  sweet  grass  of  the 
meadows  bowed  its  dry  crest  submissively  over  the  green 
heart  of  its  perennial  life.  Every  object  expressed  the  infinite 
patience  of  Nature  with  her  yearly  recurring  doom.  The 
sun  himself  seemed  to  veil  his  beams  in  noonday  haze,  lest  he 
should  smite  with  too  severe  a  lustre  the  nakedness  of  the 
landscape,  as  it  slowly  put  off  its  garment  of  life. 

For  years  past,  she  had  been  deprived  of  the  opportunity 
so  to  breathe  the  enchantment  of  the  heavenly  season.  Ab 
soon  as  the  chill  of  the  morning  dew  had  left  the  earth,  she 
went  forth  to  the  garden  and  orchard,  and  along  the  sunnj 


A   STOEY    OF   AMEEICA2T   LIFB.  481 

margin  of  the  whispering  pine-wood  behind  the  house,  striving 
to  comprehend  the  change  that  had  come  over-her,  and  fit  her 
views  of  life  to  harmony  with  it.  In  the  afternoons  she  went, 
at  Woodbury's  side,  to  a  knoll  overhanging  the  lake,  whence 
the  landscape  was  broader  and  grander,  opemng  northward, 
beyond  the  point,  where  now  and  then  a  sail  flashed  dimly 
along  the  blue  water.  Here,  sitting  on  the  grassy  brink,  he 
told  her  of  the  wonderful  life  of  the  tropics,  of  his  early  hopes 
and  struggles,  of  the  cheating  illusions  he  had  cherished,  the 
sadder  knowledge  he  had  wrested  from  experience,  and  that 
immortal  philosophy  of  the  heart  in  which  all  things  are  recon- 
ciled. He  did  not  directly  advert  to  his  passion  for  herself, 
but  she  felt  it  continually  as  the  basis  from  which  his  confi- 
dences grew.  He  was  a  tender,  trustful  friend,  presenting  to 
her,  leaf  by  leaf,  the  book  of  his  life.  She,  too,  gave  him 
much  of  hers  in  return.  She  found  a  melancholy  pleasure  in 
speaking  of  the  Past  to  one  who  had  a  right  to  know  it,  and 
to  whom  its  most  trifling  feature  was  not  indifierent.  Her 
childhood,  her  opening  girlhood,  her  education,  her  desire  for 
all  possible  forms  of  cultivation,  her  undeveloped  artistic  sym- 
pathies and  their  conflict  with  the  associations  which  surround- 
ed her — all  these  returned,  little  by  little,  and  her  husband  re- 
joiced to  find  in  them  fresh  confirmations  of  the  instinctive 
judgment,  on  the  strength  of  which  he  had  ventured  his 
love. 

In  the  evenings  they  generally  sat  in  the  library,  where  he 
read  to  her  from  his  choice  stores  of  literature,  and  from  the 
reading  grew  earnest  mutual  talk  which  calmed  and  refreshed 
her  mind.  The  leisure  of  his  long  years  in  India  had  not  been 
thrown  away :  he  had  developed  and  matured  his  natural 
taste  for  literature  by  the  careful  study  of  the  English  and 
French  classics,  and  was  familiar  with  the  principal  German 
and  Italian  authors,  so  far  as  they  could  be  known  through 
translations.  He  liad  also  reiived,  to  some  extent,  his  musty 
knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  poets,  and  his  taste  had  thus 
p«oome  pure  and  liealthy  in  proportion  to  the  variety  of  hif 


482  HANNAH   THURSTON: 

ftcqiiireraents.  Hannah  liad,  now  and  then,  perhaps  (thoagli 
this  is  doubtful,  in  the  circumscribed  community  of  Ptolemy), 
encountered  men  of  equal  culture,  but  none  who  had  spoken 
to  her  as  an  equal,  from  the  recognition  of  like  capacities  in 
her  own  mind.  She  saw,  in  this  intercourse  with  her  husband, 
the  commencement  of  a  new  and  inexhaustible  intellectual 
jnjoyment.  That  clamor  of  her  nature  for  the  supposed  rights 
denied  to  her  sex  was,  in  part,  the  result  of  a  baffled  raenta- 
passion,  which  now  saw  the  coveted  satisfaction  secured  to 
it ;  and  thus  the  voice  of  her  torment  grew  weaker  day  by 
day. 

Day  by  day,  also,  with  scarce  a  spoken  word  of  love,  the 
relations  between  the  two  became  more  fond  and  intimate. 
Woodbury's  admirable  judgment  taught  him  patience.  Ho 
saw  the  color  gradually  coming  back  to  the  pale  leaves  of  the 
flower,  and  foresaw  the  day  when  he  might  wear  it  on  liis 
bosom.  The  wind-tossed  lake  smoothed  its  surface  more  and 
more,  and  gleams  of  his  own  image  were  reflected  back  to  him 
from  the  subsiding  waves.  The  bride  glided  into  the  wife  by 
a  gentle,  natural  transition.  She  assumed  her  place  as  head 
jf  the  household,  and  Carrie,  who  was  always  nervously 
axious  under  the  weight  of  the  responsibility,  transferred  it 
gladly  to  her  hands.  The  sense  of  her  ownership  in  the  treas- 
ures of  Lakeside,  which  had  at  first  seemed  incredible,  grew 
real  by  degrees,  as  she  came  to  exercise  her  proper  authority, 
and  as  her  husband  consulted  with  her  in  regard  to  the  pro- 
posed changes  in  the  garden  and  grounds.  Ail  these  things 
aispired  her  with  a  new  and  deUghtful  interest.  The  sky  of 
-ler  life  brightened  as  the  horizon  grew  wider.  Her  individ- 
tial  sphere  of  action  had  formerly  been  limited  on  every  side ; 
Ler  tastes  had  been  necessarily  suppressed ;  -  and  the  hard, 
utilitarian  spirit,  from  which  she  shrank,  in  the  associations  of 
hei  sect,  seemed  to  meet  her  equally  wherever  she  turned. 
Her  instinct  of  beauty  was  now  liberated  ;  for  Woodbury, 
possesshig  it  himself,  not  only  appreciated,  but  encouraged  its 
vitality  in  her  nature.     The  rooms  took  the  impression  of  he? 


A.   STORY    OF   AMERICAN  LIFB.  4iMI 

teste,  at  first  in  minor  details  and  then  in  general  arrange- 
inpnU.  and  this  external  reflection  of  herself  ill  the  features  of 
he'*  borne  reacted  upon  her  feelings,  separating  her  by  a  con- 
stantly widening  gulf  from  her  maiden  life. 

The  gold  of  the  forests  corroded,  the  misty  violet  bloom  of 
the  Indian  Summer  was  washed  away  by  sharp  winds  and 
colli  rains,  and  when  winter  set  in,  the  fire  on  the  domestic 
hearth  burned  with  a  warm,  steady  flame.  Immediately  after 
><hc  marriage,  Woodbury  had  not  only  picked  out  a  very 
pretty  site  for  the  cottage  which  he  must  now  build  in  earnest 
for  Bute's  occupancy,  but  had  immediately  engaged  masons 
and  carpenters  to  commence  the  work.  It  was  on  a  low  knob 
or  spur  of  the  elevation  upon  which  stood  his  own  house,  but 
nearer  the  Anacreon  road.  Bute  and  Carrie  were  in  ecstasies 
with  the  design,  which  was  selected  from  "  Downing's  Land- 
scape Gardening."  It  was  a  story  and  a  half  high,  with  over- 
hanging balconies,  in  the  Swiss  style,  and  promised  to  be  a 
picturesque  object  in  the  view  from  Lakeside,  especially  as  it 
would  just  hide  the  only  ragged  and  unlovely  spot  in  the 
landscape,  to  the  left  of  Roaring  Brook.  By  great  exertion 
on  Bute's  part,  it  was  gotten  under  roof,  and  then  left  for  a 
winter's  seasoning,  before  completion  in  the  spring.  This 
house  and  every  thing  connected  with  it  took  entire  possession 
of  the  mind  of  Mrs.  Carrie  Wilson,  and  not  a  day  passed  with- 
out her  consulting  Hannah  in  regard  to  some  internal  or 
external  arrangement.  She  would  have  flowered  chintz  cur- 
tains to  the  windows  of  the  "  best  room" — blue,  with  small 
pink  roses  :  the  stuff  would  be  cheap  and  of  course  she  would 
make  them  herself:  would  it  be  better  to  have  them  ruffled 
with  the  same,  or  an  edging  of  the  coarse  cotton  lace  which 
she  had  learned  to  knit  ?  Bute  had  promised  her  a  carpet, 
and  they  could  furnish  the  room  little  by  little,  so  that  the 
expense  would  not  be  felt.  "  We  must  economize,"  she  inva- 
riably added,  at  the  close :  "  we  are  going  to  lay  something 
by  every  year,  and  I  want  to  show  Bute  that  I  can  manage  to 
have  every  thing  nice  and  tasty,  without  spending  much." 
19 


431  HANNAH  TtiuRsfOJT: 

The  little  woman  still  retained  her  admiration  for  TTanuab, 
perhaps  in  an  increased  degree,  now  that  Woodbury  (for  whom 
Carrie  had  conceived  such  a  profound  respect)  had  chosen 
her  to  be  his  wife.  She  confided  to  the  latter  all  her  wonder- 
ful pians  for  the  future,  utterly  forgetful  how  they  differed 
from  the  confidences  which  she  had  been  accustomed  to  bo 
ftow.  Hannah  could  not  help  remarking  her  present  uncon- 
sciousness of  that  ambition  which  she  had  once  pitied  at 
mistaken,  though  she  had  not  the  heart  to  check  it.  A  similai 
change  seemed  to  be  taking  place  in  herself.  "  Is  it  always 
so  ?"  she  reflected.  "  Is  the  fulfilment  of  our  special  destiny 
as  women  really  the  end  of  that  lofty  part  which  we  resolved 
to  take  in  the  forward  struggle  of  the  race  ?  Was  my  desire 
to  vindicate  the  just  claims  of  my  sex  only  the  blind  result  ol 
the  relinquishment  of  earlier  dreams  ?  It  cannot  be :  but  this 
much  is  true — that  the  restless  mind  is  easily  cradled  to  sleep 
on  the  beatings  of  a  happy  heart." 

The  strict  seclusion  of  her  life  was  rarely  broken.  The 
Waldos  and  Merryfields  came  once  or  twice  for  a  brief  call,  but 
Woodbury,  though  he  went  occasionally  to  Ptolemy,  did  not 
urge  her  to  accompany  him.  Sometimes,  on  mild  days,  he 
drove  with  her  over  the  hills,  re-exploring  for  her  the  pic- 
turesque little  nooks  of  the  upland  which  he  had  discovered. 
Hannah  was  contented  with  this  ;  she  knew  that  Society 
awaited  her,  after  a  time,  but  it  could  not  now  deny  her  that 
grateful  repose,  in  which  she  gathered  strength,  and  hope,  and 
harmony  with  herself.  Indeed,  the  life  of  Ptolemy  flowed 
more  quietly  than  usual,  this  season.  The  Great  Sewing-Union 
was  not  reorganized,  because  the  Cimmerians  had  decided  on 
a  "  Donation  Party"  for  Mr.  Waldo's  benefit,  instead  of  a  Fair ; 
the  Abolitionists  had  not  sufficient  cohesive  power  without 
the  assistance  of  Hannah  and  Mrs.  Merryfield,  and  prepared 
their  contributions  separately  at  home ;  and  thus  only  the 
Mission  Fund  remained.  The  latter,  however,  was  stimulated 
to  fresh  activity  by  the  arrival  of  a  package  of  letters,  early 
in  December,  from  Mrs.  .Tehiel  Preeks   (formerly  Miss  Eliza 


a.   STOBT   OF   AMERICAN   LITE.  435 

Clancy),  dated  fr  )m  Cuddapah,  in  the  Telugu  Country.  She  had 
passed  a  week  at  Jutnapore,  and  was  shocked  to  find  that  her 
brown  namesake,  for  whom  she  had  made  the  mousseline-de" 
laine  frock  with  tucks,  had  been  married  a  year,  although  not 
yet  fourteen,  and  exhibited  to  her  a  spiritual  grand-baby,  on 
he?  arrival.  She  forwarded  to  Miss  Ruhaney  Goodwin  a  letter 
in  tiie  Telugu  language  from  her  son  Elisha,  which  the  spinst«i 
hid  framed  and  hung  up  beside  her  looking-glass.  "  It's 
more  like  bird  tracks  than  any  thing  else,"  she  whispered,  con- 
fidentially, "  but  the  sight  of  it  gives  me  a  deal  of  comfort." 

Thus,  the  labors  for  the  Mission  Fund  were  resumed,  but 
the  young  men  who  attended  looked  back  to  the  days  of 
the  Great  Sewing-Union  with  regret.  The  mixed  composition 
of  the  latter  had  been  its  great  charai,  and  even  the  ladies  of 
the  Fund  missed  the  extended  comparison  of  stuffs  and  pat- 
terns, and  the  wider  range  of  mantua-making  gossip  which 
they  had  enjoyed  during  the  previous  winter.  The  curiosity 
in  regard  to  the  Woodburys  still  continued  to  be  rife ;  but 
Mrs.  Waldo,  who  was  continually  appealed  to,  as  their  nearest 
friend,  for  an  explanation  of  the  mystery,  knew  no  more  than 
any  of  the  others  what  had  passed  between  the  two  before  their 
marriage.  The  first  sharpness  of  public  comment  on  the  oc- 
currence soon  gave  place  to  a  more  just  and  reasonable  feeling. 
Both  were  popular,  in  a  different  way,  in  Ptolemy.  A  mod- 
erate amount  of  good-luck  would  not  have  been  grudged  to 
either,  but  that  they  should  find  it  in  each  other  was  the 
thought  which  astounded  the  community.  The  strangest 
things,  however,  soon  groAv  common-place,  and  all  that  had 
oeen  said  or  thought,  in  the  first  period  of  wonderment,  was 
gradually  forgotten.  Both  Mrs.  Styles  and  Mrs.  Hamilton 
Bue  called  at  Lakeside,  and  went  liome  well  pleased  with  the 
kindly  courtesy  and  hospitality  which  they  received.  They 
eaw  that  the  husband  and  wife  evidently  understood  each  other 
ind  were  happy  in  the  knowledge  :  any  thing  further  than 
this  the  keenest  scrutiny  failed  to  discover.  Woodbury  had 
the  coolness  of  a  thorough  man  of  the  world  .n  turning  aside 


436  HANNAH  thueston; 

impertinent  questions,  such  as  many  good  persons,  with  ibeif 
unformed  American  ideas  of  propriety,  see  no  harm  in  asking 
[t  is  true  tliat  he  sometimes  gave  offence  in  this  way,  but  hia 
apparent  unconsciousness  of  the  fact  healed  the  wound,  while 
t  prevented  a  repetition  of  the  impertinence. 

Hannah  admired  the  self-possession  of  her  husband,  as  a 
powei ,  the  attainment  of  which  was  beyond  her  own  reach. 
The  characteristic  which  had  most  repelled  her,  on  their  first 
jicquaintance,  was  now  that  which  threw  around  her  a  comfort- 
ing sense  of  protection  and  defence.  It  was  not  a  callous  con- 
dition of  his  finer  sensibilities,  she  saw ;  it  was  a  part  of  hia 
matured  balance  and  repose  of  character,  yet  the  latter  still 
•jomeiimes  impressed  her  almost  like  coldness,  in  comparison 
with  her  own  warmth  of  sentiment.  For  this  reason,  perhaps, 
as  her  love  to  him  deepened  and  strengthened — as  his  being 
became  more  and  more  a  blissful  necessity— his  composed,  un- 
changing tenderness  often  failed  to  satisfy,  in  full  measure, 
the  yearnings  of  her  heart.  While  she  was  growing  in  the 
richness  of  her  affections,  he  seemed  to  be  standing  still. 

With  all  Woodbury's  experience  of  woman,  he  had  yet 
nmch  to  leftrn.  No  course  could  have  been  better  chosen  than 
the  delicate  and  generous  consideration  which  he  exhibited 
towards  his  wife,  up  to  a  certain  point.  His  mistake  was,  that 
he  continued  it  long  after  the  necessity  had  ceased,  and  when, 
to  her  changed  nature,  it  suggested  a  conscientious  sense  of 
justice  rather  than  the  watchfulness  of  love.  He  was  waiting 
for  her  heart  to  reach  the  knowledge  which  already  filled  it  to 
overflowing,  betraying  itself  daily  by  a  subtle  language  which 
he  did  not  understand.  The  experiences  through  which  he 
had  passed  had  familiarized  him  with  the  presence  of  passion 
iu  himself:  his  heart  did  not  throb  less  powerfully,  but  il 
throbbed  beneath  a  mask  of  calmness  which  had  been  sternly 
enforced  upon  liim.  He  did  not  reflect  that  his  wife,  with  all 
ihe  pervading  passion  of  the  ripened  woman,  still  possessed, 
in  this  her  first  lov<^,.,  the  timidity  of  a  girl,  and  could  not  aslj 
for  that  independent  speech  of  the  heart  which  he  withheld. 


A   STORY    OF   AMERICAIf   LIFE.  46? 

Even  with  regard  to  tlie  questions  which  had  so  nearly  kept 
them  asunder,  she  would  have  preferred  frank  discussion  to 
silence  Here,  however,  he  had  promised  h6r  full  liberty  of 
action,  and  she  could  not  refer  to  them  without  a  seeming 
doubt  of  his  word.  Once  or  twice,  indeed  she  timidly  ap. 
proached  the  subject,  but  he  had  avoided  it  with  a  gentlenesi 
and  kindness  which  she  could  not  resist.  She  suffered  no  re- 
proach to  rest  upon  him,  in  her  inmost  thought ;  she  reproached 
herself  for  having  invoked  the  promise — for  having  obliged 
him  to  raise  the  thin,  impalpable  screen  which  still  interposed 
itself  between  their  hearts.  Mrs.  Styles,  in  reporting  her 
visit,  had  said:  "they  look  as  if  they  had  already  been  mar- 
ried ten  years,"  and  she  had  said  truly.  That  calm,  which 
was  so  grateful  in  the  first  tumult  of  the  wife's  feelings,  which 
enabled  her  to  pass  through  the  transition  of  her  nature  in 
peace,  now  sometimes  became  oppressive  in  the  rush  of 
happy  emotions  that  sought  but  knew  not  how  to  find  expres- 
sion. 

The  knowledge  that  Woodbury  had  modified  his  personal 

habits  so  as  to  avoid  offending  her  prejudices,  also  gave  her 

pain.     She  learned,  from  Carrie,  that  he  had  been  in  the  habit 

of  drinking  a  glass  or  two  of  claret  at  dinner,  and  of  smoking 

m  the  library  after  meals,  or  as  he  read  in  the  evenings.  ^  Now, 

the  wine  had  disappeared  from  the  table,  and  he  took  his  cigar 

in  the  garden,  or  in  the  veranda.      Both  the  habits  were  still 

repugnant  to  her  sense  of  right,  but  love  was  beginning  to 

'teach  her  tolerance.      He  was,  perhaps,  partly  weaned  from 

'^heuK  she  thought,  and  in  that  case  it  would  be  wrong  in  her 

^lead  him  back  to  his  old  subjection;  yet,  on  the  other  hand, 

^hat  sacrifice  had  he  not  made  for  her?  and  what  had  she 

Dade  for  him  ? 

Towai-ds  the  end  of  winter,  she  found  that  her  mind  wa* 
becoming   singularly  confu^ied   and    uncertam.  _ 

ailiation  with  her  destiny*  the  harmony  of  heart  ^^^,}^^ 
which  she  see  ned  to  ba  on  ihe  point  of  attammg,  slid  bacK 
•gnin  into  something  which  appeared  to  be  a  disturbance  oi 


488  HANNAH    THURSTON  : 

temperament  rather  than  of  intellect.  Things,  trifling  la 
themselves,  exalted  or  depressed  her  without  any  apparent 
reason;  unreasonable  desires  presented  themselves  to  her 
mind,  and  in  this  perpetual  wavering  of  the  balance  of  her 
nature,  nothing  seemed  steady  except  her  love  for  her  hu* 
band.  She  longed,  at  times,  to  throw  herself  upon  his  breast 
and  weep  the  confession  she  did  not  dare  to  speak;  but  her 
moments  of  strength  perversely  came  when  he  was  absent,  and 
her  moments  of  cowardice  when  he  was  present.  Through 
all  the  uncertain,  shifting  range  of  her  sensations,  ran,  never- 
theless, a  dazzling  thread  of  some  vague,  foreboded  bliss,  the 
features  of  which  she  could  not  distinguish.  She  often  re- 
peated to  herself  the  song  of  Clarchen,  in  Goethe's  "  Egmont," 
which  was  among  the  works  her  husband  had  read  with  her : 

"BlessH 
Depressed, 

Pensively  brooding  amain ; 
Trembling, 
Dissembling, 

Hovering  in  fear  and  in  pain: 
Sorrowing  to  death,  or  exulting  the  angels  abOTOi 
Blessed  alone  is  the  heart  in  its  love!" 

One  afternoon  she  was  seized  with  such  an  intense  longing 
for  the  smell  of  tobacco-smoke,  that  she  could  scarcely  wait 
until  Woodbury,   who  had   ridden  into  Ptolemy,   returned 
home.      As   soon  as   he  had  taken   off   his  great-coat   and 
kissed  her,  as  was  his  wont,  she  drew  him  into  the  library. 
"  Maxwell,"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you." 
"  Have  you  ?     I  shall  be  delighted  to  grant  it." 
"You    will   think  it   strange,"    she  continued,    blushing! 
*  I  wish  you  would  light  a  cigar ;   I  think  I  should  find  the 
smAe  agreeable." 

"  That  is  not  asking  a  favor,  Hannah ;   it  is  granting  one  to 

me.     I'll  take  one  of  ray  best,  and  you  shall  have  a  fair  trial." 

He  laughed  pleasantly  at  what  he  considered  a  benevolent 

effort  on  her  part  to   endure  his  favorite  indulgence.      He 


A   STOET    OF   AMERICAN   LIFE.  481 

placed  easy-chairs  for  them,  on  opposite  sides  of  the  fire,  lest 
her  experiment  might  fail  from  being  overdone,  and  lighted 
one  of  his  choicest  Cabanas.  The  rich,  delicate,  sedative 
odor  soon  pervaded  the  air,  but  she  held  her  ground.  He  took 
down  Sir  Thomas  Brcwne,  one  of  his  favorites,  and  read  aloud 
the  pleasant  passages.  The  snowy  ashes  lengthened  in  the 
oigar,  the  flavor  of  the  book  grew  more  choice  and  ripe,  and 
aitur  an  hour  he  tossed  the  diminutive  remaining  end  into  the 
graie,  saying: 

"  Well,  what  is  the  result  ?" 

"I  quite  forgot  the  cigar,  Maxwell,"  she  answered,  "in  my 
enjoyment  of  Sir  Thomas.  But  the  odor  at  first — you  will 
laugh  at  me — was  delightful.  I  am  so  sorry  that  you  have 
been  so  long  deprived  of  what  must  be  to  you  an  agreeable 
habit,  on  my  account." 

"I  have  only  been  acting  up  to  my  principles,"  he  said, 
'*  that  we  have  a  right  to  exercise  our  individual  freedom  in 
such  matters,  when  they  do  not  interfere  directly  with  the 
comfort  of  others.  But  here,  1  am  afraid,  Sir  Thomas  helped 
to  neutralize  your  repugnance.  Shall  we  go  on  with  him,  a 
chapter  and  a  cigar  at  a  time?  Afterwards  I  can  take 
Burton  and  Montaigne,  if  you  are  not  fully  acclimated." 

He  spoke  gayly,  with  a  dancing  light  in  his  eyes,  but  the 
plan  was  seriously  carried  out.  Hannah  was  surprised  to  find 
in  Montaigne  a  reference  to  the  modern  doctrine  (as  she  sup- 
posed it  to  be)  of  "  Women's  Rights."  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
reflection  that  the  cause  had  made  so  little  progress  in  three 
centuries.  The  reading  of  this  passage  brought  up  the  subject 
in  a  natural  way,  and  slie  could  not  help  remarking : 

*'  Diheussions  on  the  subject  will  never  come  to  an  end, 
nntil  we  have  some  practical  application  of  the  theory,  which 
will  be  an  actual  and  satisfactory  test  of  its  truth." 

"I,  for  one,  would  not  object  to  that,"  Woodbury  answered, 
'*  provided  it  could  be  tried  without  disturbing  too  much  the 
established  order  of  Society.  If  a  laige  class  of  women 
should  at  any  time  demand  these  ri^jhts,  a  refusal  to  let  the 


440  tiANNAH  THtrfistoN: 

experiment  be  tested  would  imj^ly  a  fear  of  its  success.  Novv. 
T  do  not  believe  tliat  any  system  can  be  successful  which  does 
not  contain  a  large  proportion  of  absolute  truth,  and  while  1 
cannot  think,  as  you  know,  that  woman  is  fitted  for  the  same 
career  as  man,  I  am  not  afraid  to  see  her  make  the  triaL  I 
will  pledge  myself  to  abide  by  the  result." 

"  If  all  men  were  as  just.  Maxwell,  we  should  have  no  cause 
to  complain.  After  all,  it  is  the  right  Co  try,  rather  than  the 
right  to  be,  which  we  ask.  The  refusal  to  grant  us  that  does 
not  seem  either  like  the  magnanimity  of  the  stronger,  or  even 
an  assured  faith  in  his  strength." 

"Men  do  not  seriously  consider  the  subject,"  said  he. 
"The  simple  instinct  of  sex  dictates  their  opposition.  They 
attribute  to  a  distorted,  unfeminine  ambition,  what  is  often — 
in  1/ou,  Hannah,  I  know  it — a  pure  and  unselfish  aspiration. 
The  basis  of  instinct  is  generally  correct,  but  it  does  not  ab- 
solve us  from  respect  for  the  sincerity  of  that  which  assails  it." 

"  I  will  try  to  be  as  just  to  you,  in  return !"  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  feel  that  my  knowledge  has  been  limited — that  I  have  been 
self-boastful  of  the  light  granted  to  my  mind,  when  it  was 
only  groping  in  twilight,  towards  the  dawn.  My  heart  drew 
back  from  you,  because  it  feared  a  clashing  of  opinions  which 
could  never  harmonize. 

She  was  on  the  verge  of  a  tenderer  confession,  but  he  did 
not  perceive  it.  His  words,  unwittingly,  interrupted  the  cur- 
rent of  her  feelings.  His  voice  was  unintentionally  grave  and 
his  brow  earnest,  as  he  said :  "  I  trust,  more  than  ever,  to  the 
true  woman's  nature  in  you,  Hannah.  Let  me  say  one  thing 
to  set  your  mind  at  rest  forever.  It  was  ray  profound  appre* 
ciation  of  those  very  elements  in  your  character  which  led  you 
to  take  up  these  claims  of  Woman  and  make  them  your  own, 
that  opened  the  way  for  you  to  my  heart.  I  reverence  the 
qualities  without  accepting  all  the  conclusions  born  of  them. 
I  thank  God  that  I  was  superior  to  shallow  prejudice,  which 
would  have  hindered  me  from  approaching  you,  and  thus  have 
lost  me  the  blessing  of  my  life!" 


A   STORY    OF  AMERICAN  LIPB.  Ill 

He  rose  and  laid  away  the  book.  Every  word  he  had  said 
was  just  and  noble,  but  it  was  not  the  fervid,  impassioned 
utterance  which  Her  heart  craved  to  hear.  There  were  tears 
in  her  eyes,  but  he  misinterpreted  them. 

Ah,  the  "  true  woman's  nature !"  Did  he  trust  to  it  ?  Did 
he  know  it,  ia  its  timidity,  in  its  exacting  londness.  in  its  pridfl 
ff  fievotion  and  its  joy  of  sacrifice? 

N  ot  yet. 
19* 


m  UAJSnUAM  THiTBSTOitf: 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

fX    WHICH    WB   ATTEND   ANOTHBB   MBBTDTQ   IN  FAVOB   OV 
"  WOMBN'S  EIGHTS!," 

Eablt  in  April,  Mr.  Isaiah  Bemis  again  made  his  appearance 
in  Ptolemy.  He  had  adopted  Reform  as  his  profession,  and 
in  the  course  of  fifteen  years'  practice  had  become  a  Jack-of 
all-trades  in  philanthropy  and  morals.  He  was  ready,  at  the 
shortest  notice,  to  give  an  address  on  Total  Abstinence,  Vege- 
tarianism (or  "  Vegetality,"  as  he  termed  it,  with  a  desire  to 
be  original),  Slavery,  Women's  Rights,  or  Non-Resistance,  ac- 
cording to  the  particular  need  of  the  community  he  visited. 

He  also  preached,  occasionally,  before  those  independeni 
religious  bodies  which  spring  up  now  and  then  in  a  spasmodic 
protest  against  church  organization,  and  which  are  the  natural 
complement  of  the  Perfectionists  in  Government  and  Society, 
who  beUeve  that  the  race  is  better  off  without  either.  In 
regard  to  Spiritualism  he  was  still  undecided  :  it  was  not  yet 
ingrafted  upon  the  trunk  of  the  other  Reforms  as  an  accepted 
branch  of  the  same  mighty  tree,  and  a  premature  adherence 
to  it  might  loosen  his  hold  on  those  boughs  from  which  he 
sucked  sustenance,  fame,  and  authority. 

By  slender  contributions  from  the  Executive  Committees  of 
the  various  Societies,  and  the  free  hospitality  of  the  prose^tet 
of  one  or  the  other,  all  through  the  country,  Mr.  Bemis  waa 
in  the  possession  of  a  tolerable  income,  which  came  to  inia 
through  the  simple  gratification  of  his  natural  tendencies.  To 
harangue  the  public  was  a  necessity  rather  than  a  fatigue. 
He  was  well  stored  with  superficial  logic  wherewith  to  over 
whelm  ordinary  disputants,  while  with  his  hosts,  from  whom 
no  opposition  was  to  be  expected,  he  assumed  an  air  of  arro 


A   STORY   OF  AMEBIC  ASf  LIFB.  448 

gant  superiority.  This  was  principally  their  own  fault.  A 
man  who  hears  himself  habitually  called  an  Apostle  and  a 
Martyr,  very  soon  learns  to  put  on  his  robts  of  saintship. 
None  of  his  subjects  was  bold  enough  to  dispute  the  intel«< 
lectual  and  moral  autocracy  which  he  assumed.  Thus,  for  fi^ 
teen  years,  a  Moral  Gypsy,  he  had  led  a  roving  life  tbrough  th« 
countiy,  from  Maine  to  Indiana,  interrupted  only  by  a  trip  to 
England,  in  1841,  as  a  "delegate  at  large"  to  the  "World's 
Anti-Slavery  Convention."  During  all  this  time  his  wife  had 
supported  herself  by  keeping  a  boarding-house  in  a  small  towa 
in  New  Jersey.  He  was  accustomed  to  visit  her  once  a  year, 
and  at  such  times  scrupulously  paid  his  board  during  the  few 
weeks  of  his  stay — which  circumstance  was  exploited  as  an 
illustration  of  his  strict  sense  of  justice  and  his  constancy  to 
the  doctrine  of  Women's  Rights. 

Central  New  York  was  a  favorite  field  for  Mr.  Bemis,  and 
he  ranged  its  productive  surface  annually.  His  meetings  being 
announced  in  advance  in  the  Annihilator^  his  friends  were 
accustomed  to  have  all  the  arrangements  made  on  his  arrival 
On  reaching  Ptolemy,  however,  two  or  three  days  still  inter- 
vened before  the  meeting  could  be  held,  on  account  of  Turn 
blety  Hall  having  been  previously  engaged  by  the  "Mozart 
Ethiopian  Opera,"  and  the  "  Apalachicolan  Singers."  Mr. 
Bemis,  as  a  matter  of  course,  claimed  the  hospitality  of  the 
Merryfields  in  the  interval.  He  was  not  received  with  the 
expected  empressemeyit^  nor  were  his  Orphic  utterances  listened 
to  with  the  reverence  to  which  he  was  used.  The  other 
friends  of  the  cause — foremost  among  them  Seth  Wattles — 
nevertheless  paid  their  court  as  soon  as  his  arrival  became 
known,  and  (spiritually)  on  bended  knees  kissed  the  hand  of 
the  master. 

The  arrangements  for  the  coming  meeting  were  first  to  be 
discussed.  Attention  had  been  drawn  away  from  the  riiform 
during  the  previous  summer  by  the  renewed  agitation  in  favor 
of  Temperance,  and  it  was  desirable  to  renovate  the  faded 
impression.      The   Rev.   Amelia   Parkes  had  been    invited 


444  HANNAH  thukston: 

but  was  tillable  to  leave  her  congregation  ;  and  Bessie  Strykei 
was  more  profitably  engaged  in  lecturing  before  varioua 
literary  associations,  at  one  hundred  dollars  a  night  (payable 
only  in  gold).  Mr.  Chubbuck,  of  Miranda,  could  be  depended 
upon,  but  he  was  only  a  star  of  the  second  magnitude,  and 
gomething  more  was  absolutely  required. 

"  We  must  get  Miss  Thurston — I  mean  Mrs.  Woodbury— 
again.  There  is  nothing  else  to  be  done,"  remarked  Mr. 
Bemis,  drawing  down  his  brows.  He  had  not  forgotten  that 
the  people  of  Ptolemy  had  freely  given  to  her  the  applause 
which  they  had  withheld  from  his  more  vigorous  oratory. 

"  I  rather  doubt,  as  it  were,"  said  Mr.  Merryfield,  "  whether 
Hannah  will  be  willing  to  speak." 

"  Why  not  ?"  thundered  Bemis. 

"She's  lived  very  quietly  since  her  marriage,  and  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  she'd  changed  her  notions  somewhat." 

*'Z  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  Seth,  drawing  up  his  thick 
nostrils,  "  if  her  husband  had  forbidden  her  ever  to  speak 
again.  If  he  could  bully  her  into  marrying  him,  he  could  do 
(that,  too." 

"  You're  mistaken,  Seth,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Merryfield,  color- 
ing with  a  mild  indignation,  "  there's  nothing  of  the  bully 
about  Woodbury.  And  if  they  two  don't  love  each  other 
fiincerely,  why,  Sarah  and  me  don't !" 

"We  can  easily  find  out  all  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Bemis, 
rising  and  buttoning  his  coat  over  his  broad  chest.  "Mr. 
Wattles,  will .  you  come  with  me  ?  We  will  constitute  our 
selves  a  Committee  of  Invitation." 

Seth,  nothing  loath,  put  on  his  hat,  and  the  two  started  on 
their  eriaud.  It  was  but  a  short  walk  to  Lakeside,  which 
they  reached  soon  after  Woodbury  had  taken  his  customary 
place  in  the  library,  with  a  cigar  in  bis  mouth  and  a  volume 
of  Pepys'  Diary  in  his  hand.  Hannah  sat  near  him,  quiet  and 
hap))y  :  she  was  not  only  reconciled  to  her  husband's  habit, 
but  enjoyed  the  book  and  talk  which  accompanied  it  more 
than  any  other  part  of  the  day.     On  this  occasion  they  wer« 


A  STOEY   OF   AMEEICAN   LIFE.  444 

interrupted  by  Bute,  who  announced  the  visitors  in  UiO  f<^ 
lowing  style : 

"Miss'  Woodbury,  here's  Setb  Wattles  afld  another  man 
has  couie  to  see  you." 

Hannah  rose  with  a  look  of  disappointment,  and.  turned 
towards  her  husband,  hesitatingly. 

"  ShaU  I  go,  also  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  would  prefer  it.  Maxwell;  I  have  no  private  business 
with  any  one." 

Bute  had  ushered  the  visitors  into  the  tea-room.  The  door 
to  the  library  was  closed,  but  a  faint  Cuban  perfume  was  per- 
ceptible. Seth  turned  towards  Mr.  Bemis  with  elevated  eye- 
brows, and  gave  a  loud  sniff,  as  much  as  to  say :  "  Do  yoG 
notice  that  ?"  The  latter  gentleman  scowled  and  shook  his 
head,  but  said  nothing. 

Presently  the  door  opened  and  Hannah  made  her  appearance, 
followed  by  her  husband.  She  concealed  whatever  embarrass- 
ment she  may  have  felt  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Bemis,  frankly 
gave  him  her  hand,  and  introduced  him  to  her  husband. 

"Be  seated,  gentlemen,"  said  the  latter,  courteously.  "I 
would  ask  you  into  the  library,  but  I  have  been  smoking  there, 
and  the  room  may  not  be  agreeable  to  you." 

"Hem!  we  are  not — exactly — accustomed  to  such  an  at- 
mosphere," said  Mr.  Bemis,  taking  a  chair. 

Woodbury  began  talking  upon  general  topics,  to  allow  his 
guests  time  to  recover  from  a  slight  awkwardness  which  was 
evident  in  their  manner.  It  was  not  long,  however,  before 
Mr.  Bemis  broached  the  purpose  of  his  visit.  "  Mrs.  Wood- 
bury," said  he,  "  you  have  heard  that  we  are  to  have  a  meet- 
ng  on  Wednesday  evening  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  We  have  been  disappointed  in  getting  the  Rev.  Amdia 
Parkes,  and  the  advocacy  of  The  Cause  is  incomplete  unless  a 
woman  takes  part  in  it.  I  have  therefore  come  to  ask  your 
assistance.     We  wish,  this  time,  to  create  an  impression." 

It  was  not  a  welcome  message.     She  knew  that  such  a  test 


446  HANNAH  xhukstok: 

must  come,  some  time ;  but  of  late  she  had  been  unable  tc 
apply  her  mind  steadily  to  any  subject,  and  had  postponed, 
by  an  agreement  with  herself,  the  consideration  of  all  disturb- 
ing questions.  She  looked  at  her  husband,  but  his  calm  face 
expressed  no  counsel.  He  was  determined  that  she  should 
Bct  independently,  and  he  would  allow  no  word  or  glance  to 
influence  her  decision. 

"  It  is  long  since  I  have  spoken,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  should  be  of  service."  She  wished  to  gain 
time  by  an  undecided  answer,  still  hoping  that  Woodbury 
would  come  to  her  assistance. 

"  We  are  the  best  judges  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Bemis,  with 
something  of  his  old  dictatorial  tone.  "I  trust  you  will  not 
fail  us,  now  when  we  have  such  need.  The  interest  in  The 
Cause  has  very  much  fallen  off,  in  this  neighborhood,  and  if 
you  desert  us,  to  whom  shall  we  look  for  help  ?" 

"Yes,  Hannah,"  chimed  in  Seth,  "you  know  we  have 
%lways  looked  upon  you  as  one  of  the  Pillars  of  Progress." 

It  grated  rather  harshly  upon  Woodbury's  feelings  to  hear 
his  wife  addressed  so  familiarly  by  the  ambitious  tailor ;  but 
she  was  accustomed  to  it,  from  the  practice  of  her  sect  to 
bear  testimony  against  what  they  call  "  compliments." 

"  1  have  not  lost  my  interest  in  the  cause,"  Hannah  answered, 
after  another  vain  attempt  to  read  Woodbury's  face ;  "  but  I 
have  freely  uttered  my  thoughts  on  the  subject,  and  I  could 
say  nothing  that  has  not  been  already  heard." 

"  Nothing  else  is  wanted,"  said  Mr.  Bemis,  eagerly.  "  The 
Truth  only  gains  by  repetition ;  it  still  remains  eternall}'  new. 
How  many  thousand  times  have  the  same  Bible  texts  been 
preached  from,  and  yet  their  meaning  is  not  exhausted — it  is 
noi  even  fully  comprehended.  How  much  of  the  speaker's 
discourse  do  yoa  suppose  the  hearers  carry  home  with  them  ? 
Not  a  tenth  part — and  even  that  tenth  part  must  be  repeated 
ten  times  before  it  penetrates  beneath  the  surface  of  their 
uatures.  Truth  is  a  nail  that  you  cannot  drive  into  ordinary 
comprehensions  with  one  blow  of  the  hammer :  you  must  pil« 


A   StORf   Of  AMERICAN  LIFB.  447 

fltroke  upon  stroke,  before  it  enters  far  enough  to  be  clinched 
fast.  It  is  not  the  time  for  you  to  draw  back  now,  in  a  season 
of  faint-heartedness  and  discouragement.  If  you  fail,  it  will 
be  said  that  your  views  have  changed  with  the  change  in 
your  life,  and  you  will  thus  neutralize  all  your  labors  herato- 
fore." 

"  That  cannot  be  said  of  me !"  exclaimed  Hannah,  thor« 
onghly  aroused  and  indignant.  "  My  husband  has  been  too 
just — too  generous,  diflfering  with  me  as  he  does — to  impose 
any  restrictions  upon  my  action  !"  She  turned  towards  him. 
He  answered  her  glance  with  a  frank,  kindly  smile,  which 
thanked  her  for  her  words,  but  said  no  more.  "  Well,  then !" 
she  continued ;  '*  I  will  come,  if  only  to  save  him  from  an 
unjust  suspicion.  I  will  not  promise  to  say  much.  You  over- 
estimate my  value  as  an  advocate  of  the  reform." 

*'  It  is  not  for  me,"  said  Mr.  Bemis,  with  affected  humility, 
"  to  speak  of  what  I  have  done;  but  I  consider  myself  com- 
petent to  judge  of  the  services  of  others.  Your  influence  will 
be  vastly  increased  when  your  consistency  to  The  Cause  shall 
be  known  and  appreciated.  I  now  have  great  hopes  that  wc 
shall  inaugurate  an  earnest  moral  awakening." 

Little  more  was  said  upon  the  subject,  and  in  a  short  time 
the  two  reformers  took  their  leave.  After  Woodbury  had 
returned  from  the  door,  whither  he  had  politely  accompanied 
them,  he  said,  in  his  usual  cheerful  tone:  "Well,  Hannah, 
shall  we  return  to  Old  Pepys  ?" 

Her  momentary  excitement  had  already  died  away.  She 
appeared  perplexed  and  restless,  but  she  mechanically  rose  and 
followed  him  into  the  library.  As  he  took  up  the  book,  sle 
interrupted  him :  "  Tell  me,  Maxwell,  have  I  done  right  ?" 

"You  should  know,  Hannah,"  he  answered.  "I  wish  you 
to  act  entirely  as  your  own  nature  shall  prompt,  without 
reference  to  me.  I  saw  that  you  had  not  much  desire  to 
accept  the  invitation,  but,  having  accepted  it,  I  suppose  yon 
must  fulfil  your  promise." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  said  ;  but  her  tone  was  weary  and 


44S  ttANlTAH  THURStOii: 

disappoiuted.  How  gladly  would  she  hare  yielded  to  hii 
slightest  wish,  if  he  would  only  speak  it!  "What  a  sweet 
comfort  it  would  have  been  to  her  heart,  to  know  that  she 
had  sacrificed  something  belonging  to  herself,  even  were  it 
that  higher  duty  which  had  almost  become  a  portion  of  hei 
conscience,  for  his  sake  I  The  independence  which  he,  with 
Rn  over-considerate  love,  had  assured  to  her,  seemed  to  isolate 
her  nature  when  it  should  draw  nearer  to  his.  His  perfect 
justice  crushed  her  with  a  cold,  unyielding  weight  of — not 
obligation,  for  that  cannot  coexist  with  love — but  something 
almost  as  oppressive.  She  had  secured  her  freedom  from 
man's  dictation — that  freedom  which  once  had  seemed  so  rare 
and  so  beautiful — and  now  her  heart  cried  aloud  for  one  word 
of  authority.  It  would  be  so  easy  to  yield,  so  blissful  to 
be  able  to  say:  "Maxwell,  I  do  this  willingly,  for  your 
sake !" — but  he  cruelly  hid  the  very  shadow  of  his  wish  from 
her  sight  and  denied  her  the  sacrifice !  He  forced  her  in- 
dependence back  upon  her  when  she  would  have  laid  it  down, 
trusting  all  she  was  and  all  she  might  be  to  the  proved  nobility 
of  his  nature  1  Self-abnegation,  she  now  felt,  is  the  heart  of 
love ;  but  the  rising  flood  of  her  being  was  stayed  by  the 
barriers  which  she  had  herself  raised. 

All  the  next  day  her  uneasiness  increased.  It  was  not  onh 
her  instinctive  fear  of  thwarting  her  husband's  hidden  desire 
which  tormented  her,  but  a  singular  dread  of  agmn  making 
her  appearance  before  the  public.  She  was  not  conscious  of 
any  change  in  her  views  on  the  question  of  Woman,  but  they 
failed  to  give  her  strength  and  courage.  A  terrible  sinking 
of  the  heart  assailed  her  as  often  as  she  tried  to  collect  her 
thoughts  and  arrange  the  expected  discourse  in  her  mind. 
Every  thing  seemed  to  shift  and  slide  before  the  phantasm  of 
her  inexplicable  fear.  Woodbury  could  not  help  noticing  hei 
agitation,  but  he  understood  neither  its  origin  nor  its  nature. 
He  was  tender  as  ever,  and  strove  to  soothe  her  without  ad- 
verting to  the  coming  task.  It  was  the  only  inhappy  dxy  fihl 
bad  known  since  she  had  come  to  Lakeside. 


▲   STOBT    OF   AMERICAN  LIFB.  446 

The  next  morning  dawned — the  morning  of  Wednesday— 
tad  noon  came  swiftly  as  a  flash,  since  she  dreaded  its  ap 
proach.  The  dinner  had  been  ordered  earlier  than  usual,  foi 
the  meeting  was  to  commence  at  two  o'clock ;  and  as  soon  as 
it  was  over,  Woodbury  said  to  her:  "It  is  time  you  were 
ready,  Hannah.  I  will  take  you  to  Ptolemy,  of  course,  and 
will  attend  the  meeting,  or  not,  as  you  desire." 

She  drew  him  into  the  library.  "  Oh,  Maxwell!"  she  cried  j 
"  will  you  not  tell  me  what  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"  My  dear  wife,"  he  said,  "  do  not  torment  yourself  on 
my  .account  I  have  tried  to  fulfil  to  the  utmost  my  promise 
to  you  :  have  I  said  or  done  any  thing  to  make  you  suspect 
my  sincerity  ?" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing !  You  have  kept  it  only  too  welL 
But,  Maxwell,  my  heart  fails  me :  I  cannot  go !  the  very 
thought  of  standing  where  I  once  stood  makes  me  grow  faint. 
I  have  no  courage  to  do  it  again." 

"  Then  do  not,"  he  answered ;  "  I  will  make  a  suitable 
apology  for  your  failure.  Or,  if  that  is  not  enough,  shall  I 
take  your  place  ?  I  will  not  promise,"  he  added,  smiling, 
"  to  go  quite  so  far  as  you  might  have  done,  but  I  will  at  least 
say  a  few  earnest  words  which  can  do  no  harm.  Who  has  so 
good  a  right  to  be  your  substitute  as  your  husband  ?" 

"  Maxwell,"  she  sobbed,  "  how  you  put  me  to  shame !"  It 
was  all  she  could  say.  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her 
tenderly,  and  then  drove  into  Ptolemy. 

Tumblety  Hall  was  crowded.  The  few  advocates  of  the 
cause  had  taken  good  care  to  spread  the  news  that  Mrs. 
Woodbury  was  to  be  one  of  the  speakers,  and  there  was  a 
general,  though  indefinite  curiosity  to  hear  her  again,  now  that 
she  was  married.  Mr.  Berais  rubbed  his  hands  as  he  saw  how 
rapidly  the  benches  were  filling,  and  observed  to  Seth  Wat- 
tles :  "  The  iron  is  hot,  and  we  have  only  to  strike  hard."  After 
the  audience  had  assembled,  the  latter  was  chosen  Chairman  oi 
the  meeting,  Mr.  Merrj  field  declining,  on  account  of  liis  having 
io  frequently  filled  that  office,  "  as  it  were." 


450  HA.NNAH   THUESTON  : 

Seth  called  the  meeting  to  order  with  a  pompous,  satisfied 
air.  His  phrases  were  especially  grandiloquent;  for,  like 
many  serai-intelligent  persons,  he  supposed  that  the  power  of 
oratory  depended  on  the  sound  of  the  words.  If  the  latter 
were  not  always  exactly  in  the  right  place,  it  made  little  dii« 
ference.  "  Be  ye  convinced,  my  brethren,"  he  concluded, 
"  that  absoloot  Right  will  conquer,  in  spite  of  the  concatena« 
tions  and  the  hostile  discrepancies  of  Urrur  (Error) !  Our 
opponents  have  attempted  to  shut  up  every  door,  every  vein 
and  artery,  and  every  ramification  of  our  reform,  but  the  angel 
of  Progress  bursts  the  prison-doors  of  Paul  and  Silas,  and 
when  the  morning  dawns,  the  volcano  is  extinct !" 

Mr.  Bemis  followed,  in  what  he  called  his  "sledgehammer 
style,"  which  really  suggested  a  large  hammer,  so  far  as  voice 
and  gesture  were  concerned,  but  the  blows  did  not  seem  to 
make  much  impression.  He  had,  however,  procured  a  few 
new  anecdotes,  both  of  the  wrongs  and  the  capacities  of  wo- 
man, and  these  prevented  his  harangue  from  being  tedious  to 
the  audience.  They  were  stepping-stones,  upon  which  the 
latter  could  wade  through  the  rushing  and  turbid  flood  of  his 
discourse. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  Hannah  should  follow  him,  and 
Mr.  Chubbuck,  of  Miranda,  close  the  performance.  When, 
therefore,  Mr.  Bemis  sat  down,  he  looked  around  for  his  suc- 
cessor, and  the  audience  began  to  stir  and  buzz,  in  eager 
expectation.  She  was  not  upon  the  platform,  but  Woodbury 
was  seen,  pressing  down  the  crowded  side-aisle,  apparently 
endeavoring  to  make  his  way  to  the  steps.  He  finally  reached 
ihem  and  mounted  upon  the  platform,  where  a  whispered 
consultation  took  place  between  himself  and  Mr.  Bemis.  '  The 
countenance  of  the  latter  gentleman  grew  dark,  and  he  in  turn 
whispered  to  Seth,  who,  after  some  hesitation,  arose  and 
addressed  the  meeting : 

■'  We  have  again  an  illustration,"  he  said,  "  of  the  vanity  of 
human  wishes.  We  expected  to  present  to  you  the  illustrious 
prototype  of  her  sex,  to  whose  cerulean  accents  you  have  ofte» 


A   STOBT   OF  AMERICAN   LIFB.  461 

listened  and  applauded,  but  disappoiutment  has  chilled  the 
genial  current  of  our  souls.  She  has  sent  jf  subsidy  in  her 
place,  and  he  is  prepared  to  await  your  pleasure,  if  you  will 
hear  the  spontaneous  vindication." 

A  movement  of  surprise  ran  through  the  audience,  but 
their  disappointment  at  once  gave  place  to  a  new  curiosity, 
md  a  noise  of  stamping  arose,  in  token  of  satisfaction.  Wood- 
bury, whose  demeanor  was  perfectly  serious  and  collected,  in 
spite  of  a  strong  tendency  to  laugh  at  Seth,  stepped  forward 
to  the  front  of  the  platform,  and,  as  soon  as  silence  returned, 
began  to  speak.  His  manner  was  easy  and  natural,  and  his 
voice  unusually  clear  and  distinct,  though  the  correctness  of 
his  pronunciation  struck  his  hearers,  at  first,  like  affectation. 

"  I  appear  voluntarily  before  you,  my  friends,"  he  said,  "  as 
a  substitute  for  one  whom  you  know.  She  had  promised  to 
speak  to  you  on  a  subject  to  which  she  has  given  much  earn- 
est thought,  not  so  much  for  her  own  sake  as  for  that  of  her 
sex.  Being  unable  to  fulfil  that  promise,  I  have  offered  to 
take  her  place, — not  as  the  representative  of  her  views,  or  of 
the  views  of  any  particular  association  of  persons,  but  as  a 
man  who  reveres  woman,  and  who  owes  her  respect  in  all 
cases,  though  he  may  not  always  agree  with  her  assertion  of 
right.  ('Good!'  cried  some  one  in  the  audience.)  I  stand 
between  both  parties  ;  between  you  who  denounce  the  tyranny 
of  man  (turning  to  Mr.  Bemis),  and  you  who  meet  with  con- 
tempt and  abuse  (turning  back  towards  the  audience)  all  earn- 
est appeals  of  woman  for  a  freer  exercise  of  her  natural  facul- 
ties. No  true  reform  grows  out  of  reciprocal  denunciation. 
When  your  angry  thunders  have  been  launched,  and  the 
opposing  clouds  dissolve  from  the  exhaustion  of  their  supply, 
the  sunshine  of  tolerance  and  charity  shines  between,  and  the 
lowering  fragments  fuse  gently  togetb  jr  in  the  golden  gleam 
of  the  twilight.  Let  me  speak  to  you  from  the  neutral  ground 
of  universal  humanity ;  let  me  tell  you  of  some  wrongs  of 
woman  which  none  of  you  need  go  far  to  see — some  lights 
which  each  man  of  you,  to  whom  God  has  given  a  help-meet* 


4f>2  HANNAH   THURSTON  : 

may  grant  beside  his  own  hearth-stone  and  the  cradle  of  bii 
children  !  We  Americans  boast  of  our  superior  civilization ; 
we  look  down  with  a  superb  commiseration  not  only  upon  the 
political,  but  the  social  and  domestic  life  of  other  lands. 
Let  us  not  forget  that  the  position  which  woman  holds  in  the 
State — always  supposing  that  it  does  not  transcend  the  des 
tiny  of  her  sex — is  the  unerring  index  on  the  dial  of  civiliza- 
tion. It  behooves  us,  therefore,  in  order  to  make  good  oa. 
boast,  to  examine  her  condition  among  us.  We  are  famed, 
and  perhaps  justly,  for  the  chivalrous  respect  which  we  ex« 
hibit  towards  her  in  public ;  do  we  grant  her  an  equal  con- 
sideration in  our  domestic  life  ?  Do  we  seek  to  understand  her 
finer  nature,  her  more  delicate  sensibilities,  her  self-sacrificing 
desire  to  share  our  burdens  by  being  permitted  to  understand 
them?" 

The  attention  of  the  audience  was  profoundly  enlisted  by 
these  words.  The  calm,  dispassionate,  yet  earnest  tone  of  the 
speaker  was  something  new.  It  was  an  agreeable  variation 
from  the  anathemas  with  which  they  not  only  did  not  sympa- 
thize, but  which  they  were  too  indifferent  to  resent.  Mr.  Bemis, 
it  is  true,  fidgeted  uneasily  in  his  arm-chair,  but  he  was  now 
quite  a  secondary  person.  Woodbury  went  on  to  advocate  a 
private  as  well  as  public  respect  for  woman ;  he  painted,  in 
strong  colors,  those  moral  qualities  in  which  she  is  superior  to 
man  ;  urged  her  claim  to  a  completer  trust,  a  more  generous 
confidence  on  his  part ;  and,  while  pronouncing  no  word  that 
could  indicate  an  actual  sympathy  with  the  peculiar  rights 
which  were  the  object  of  the  meeting,  demanded  that  they 
should  receive,  at  least,  a  respectful  consideration.  He 
repeated  the  same  manly  views  which  we  have  already  heard 
in  his  conversations  with  his  wife,  expressing  his  faith  in  the 
impossibility  of  any  permanent  development  not  in  accordance 
with  nature,  and  his  confidence  that  the  sex,  under  whatever 
conditions  of  liberty,  would  instinctively  find  its  true  place. 

His  address,  which  lasted  nearly  an  hour,  was  received  witj 
hearty  satisfaction  by  his  auditors.      To  the  advocates  of  th« 


A    STORT   OF    AMERICAN   LIFB.  468 

refoitn  it  was  a  mixture  of  honey  and  galk  He  had  started, 
apparently,  from  nearly  the  same  point;  his  path,  for  a  while, 
had  run  parallel  with  theirs,  and  then,  without  any  sensible 
divergence,  had  reached  a  widely  different  goal.  Somehow, 
he  had  taken,  in  advance,  all  the  strength  out  of  Mr.  Chub- 
buck's  oration ;  for,  although  the  latter  commenced  with  ao 
iCtack  on  Woodbury's  neutral  attitude,  declaring  that  "we 
cannot  serve  two  masters,"  the  effort  was  too  sophistical  to 
deceive  anybody.  His  speech,  at  least,  had  the  effect  to 
restore  Mr.  Berais  to  good  humor.  Miss  Silsbee,  a  maiden 
lady  from  Atauga  City,  was  then  persuaded  to  say  a  few 
words.  She  recommended  the  audience  to  "preserve  their 
individuality :  when  that  is  gone,  all  is  gone,"  said  she.  "  Bt 
not  like  the  foolish  virgins,  that  left  their  lamps  untrimmed. 
O  trim  your  wicks  before  the  eleventh  hour  comes,  and  the 
Master  finds  you  sleeping !" 

There  seemed  to  be  but  a  veiy  remote  connection  between 
these  expressions  and  the  doctrine  of  Women's  Rights,  and 
the  audience,  much  enlivened  by  the  fact,  dispersed,  after 
adopting  the  customary  resolutions  by  an  overwhelming  major- 
ity. "  We  have  sowed  the  field  afresh,"  cried  Mi*.  Bemis, 
rubbing  his  hands,  as  he  turned  to  his  friends  on  the  platform, 
"in  spite  of  the  tares  of  the  Enemy."  This  was  a  figurative 
allusion  to  Woodbury. 

The  latter  resisted  an  invitation  to  take  tea  with  the  Wal- 
dos, in  order  to  hurry  home  to  his  wife.  Mrs.  Waldo  had 
been  one  of  his  most  delighted  hearers,  and  her  parting  words 
were :  "  Remember,  if  you  don't  tell  Hannah  every  thing  you 
said,  I  shall  do  it,  myself!" 

On  reaching  Lakeside,  Hannah  came  to  the  door  to  meet 
him.  Her  troubled  expression  had  passed  away,  and  a  deep, 
wonderful  light  of  happuiess  was  on  her  face.  Her  eyes  trem- 
bled  in  their  soft  splendor,  like  stars  through  the  veil  of  falling 
dew,  and  some  new,  inexpressible  grace  clung  around  her 
form.  She  caught  his  hands  eagerly,  and  her  voice  came  low 
and  vibrant  with  its  own  sweetness. 


i54  HANITAH  THTJBSTOK: 

"  Did  you  take  my  place,  Maxwell  ?"  she  asked. 

He  laughed  cheerfully.  "  Of  course  I  did.  I  made  the 
longest  speech  of  my  life.  It  did  not  satisfy  Bemis,  I  am  sure, 
but  the  audience  took  it  kindly,  and  you,  Hannah,  if  you  had 
been  there,  would  have  accepted  the  most  of  it." 

"  I  know  I  should  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  must  tell  me  all 
— but  not  now.  Now  you  must  have  your  reward — oh,  Max 
well,  I  think  I  can  reward  you !" 

"  Give  me  another  kiss,  then." 

He  stooped  and  took  it.  She  laid  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  drew  his  ear  to  her  lips.  Then  she  whispered  a  few  flut- 
tering words.  When  he  lifted  his  face  she  saw  upon  it  thf 
light  and  beauty  of  unspeakable  joy. 


A   STORY    OF    AMERICAN    LIFE.  455 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

IX  WHICH  THE  MAX  AND  "WOMAN  COlffi  TO   AX  UXOERSTANDING. 

Woodbury,  without  having  intended  it,  very  mnch  increased 
his  popularity  in  Ptolemy  by  the  part  he  had  taken  in  the 
meeting.  His  address  was  marked  by  a  delicate  tact  which 
enabled  him  to  speak  for  Woman,  on  behalf  of  his  wife,  while 
preserving  his  own  independence  of  her  peculiar  views.  The 
men  suspected  that  her  opinions  had  been  modified  by  his 
stronger  mind,  and  that  this  was  the  secret  of  her  non-appear- 
ance :  they  were  proud  that  he  had  conquered  the  championess. 
The  women,  without  exception,  were  delighted  with  his 
defence  of  their  domestic  rights ;  most  of  them  had  had  more 
or  less  experience  of  that  misapprehension  of  their  nature 
which  he  portrayed,  and  the  kindness,  the  considerate  justice 
which  dictated  his  words  came  very  gratefully  to  their  ears. 
Even  Mrs.  Hamilton  Bue  remarked  to  a  neighbor,  at  the  close 
of  his  speech  :  "  Well,  if  he's  learned  all  that  from  Aer,  she's 
done  some  good,  after  all !" 

Thus  it  happened  that  the  marriage  came  to  be  regarded 
with  favor.  Ptolemy  not  only  submitted  with  a  good  grace 
to  what  was  irrevocable,  but  readily  invented  a  sufficient  justi- 
fication for  it.  Hannah  found  a  friendly  disposition  towards 
her,  as  she  began  to  mingle  a  little  more  with  the  society  of 
the  place :  the  women,  now  that  they  recognized  her  as  one  of 
themselves,  approached  her  more  genially  and  naturally  than 
hitherto,  and  the  men  treated  her  with  a  respect,  under  which 
DO  reserved  hostility  was  concealed.  The  phenomenon  ^vaa 
adopted,  as  is  always  the  case,  into  the  ordinary  processes  of 
nature. 


4A6  HAHHAu  thukston: 

But  a  uew  life  had  commenced  at  Lakeside,  aud  this  and  all 
other  changes  in  the  temper  of  the  community  passed  unno- 
ticed. The  spring  advanced  with  a  lovelier  mystery  in  every 
sprouting  germ,  in  every  unfolding  bud.  In  those  long,  sunny 
days  when  the  trodden  leaves  of  the  last  year  stir  and  rustle 
under  the  upward  pressure  of  the  shooting  grass,  when  nevr 
nolets  and  buttercups  open  from  hour  to  hour,  and  the  shim 
mering,  gauzy  tints  of  the  woodlands  deepen  visibly  betweeu 
dawn  and  sunset,  the  husband  and  wife  saw  but  the  external 
expression  of  the  rich  ripening  of  their  own  lives.  The  season 
could  not  impart  its  wonted  tender  yearnings,  for  they  slept 
in  the  bliss  of  the  possession  they  had  only  prefigured  before, 
but  it  brought,  in  place  of  them,  a  holier  and  more  wonderful 
promise.  Here,  the  wife's  nature  at  last  found  a  point  oi 
repose :  around  this  secret,  shining  consciousness,  the  strug- 
gling elements  ranged  themselves  in  harmonious  forms.  A 
power  not  her  own,  yet  inseparable  from  both,  and  as  welcome 
as  it  was  unforeboded,  had  usurped  her  life,  and  the  remem- 
brance of  the  most  hardly- won  triumphs  which  her  mind  had 
ever  achieved  grew  colorless  and  vain. 

By  the  end  of  May  the  cottage  for  Bute  was  completed.  It 
was  all  that  Downing  had  promised  from  the  design,  except  in 
regard  to  the  expense,  which  was  nearly  double  his  estimate. 
However,  it  formed  a  very  picturesque  feature  in  the  fore- 
ground of  the  landscape  from  Lakeside,  and  was  conveniently 
Bituated  for  the  needs  of  the  farm.  It  was  a  day  of  jubilee  for 
Bute  and  Carrie  when  they  took  possession  of  it.  Mrs.  Waldo 
must  needs  be  present  at  the  migration,  and  assist  with  her 
advice  in  the  arrangement  of  the  furniture.  Fortunately,  the 
little  "  best  room"  had  but  two  windows,  and  Mrs.  Wilson's 
dream  of  the  chintz  curtains  was  realized.  Bute  had  bought 
ft  br<)wnish  ingrain  carpet,  somewhat  worn,  at  an  auction  sale 
in  Ptolemy,  for  a  very  trifling  sum ;  and  in  addition  to  the  poi^ 
trails  of  General  and  Lady  Washington,  which  Mrs.  Babb  had 
inherited  from  Jason,  and  bequeathed  to  him  in  turn.  Wood 
bury  had  given  him  a   splendidly-colored  lithograph  of  an 


A    STUKY    OF   AMKIUCA.N    I.IFK.  46'; 

•*  American  Homestead,"  with  any  quantity  of  cattle  and 
poultry.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the  pride  of  JNlrs.  Wilson 
in  this  room.  One  window  commanded  a  cheerful  view  of  the 
valley  towards  Ptolemy,  while  the  white  front  of  Lakeside 
looked  in  at  the  other.  Bute  had  surrounded  the  looking-glasi* 
»nd  picture-frames  with  wreaths  of  winter-green,  which 
reminded  Woodbury  of  his  impromptu  ball-room  in  the  B  )W 
ery,  and  in  the  fireplace  stood  a  huge  pitcher  filled  with 
asparagus,  blossoming  lilacs,  and  snow-balls.  It  was  Mrs. 
Wilson's  ambition  to  consecrate  the  house  by  inviting  them  all 
to  tea,  and  a  very  pleasant  party  they  were. 

When  the  guests  had  left,  and  the  happy  tenants  found 
themselves  alone,  the  little  wife  exclaimed :  "  Oh,  Bute,  to 
think  that  we  should  have  a  house  of  our  own !" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  '"^  «5  our'n,  jist  as  much  as  though  we 
owned  it,  as  long  as  we  think  so.  Property's  pretty  nmch  in 
thinkin\  onless  you've  got  to  raise  money  on  it.  I  know 
when  I'm  well  ofi",  and  if  you'll  hitch  teams  with  me  in  savin', 
Carrie,  we  can  leastways  put  back  all  the  interest,  and  it'll  roU 
up  as  fast  as  we  want  it." 

"  You'll  see,  Bute,"  his  wife  answered,  with  a  cheerful  de- 
termination ;  "it's  a  life  that  will  suit  me  so  much  better  than 
sewing  around  fi'om  house  to  house.  I'll  raise  chickens  and 
turkeys,  and  we  can  sell  what  we  don't  want ;  and  then  there's 
I  lie  garden;  and  the  cow;  and  we  won't  s])end  much  for 
tlothes.  I  wish  you'd  let  me  make  yours,  Bute ;  I'm  sure  1 
couM  do  it  as  well  as  SeUi  Wattles." 

The  grin  on  Bute's  face  broadened,  as  he  listened  to  iho 
lively  little  creature,  and  when  she  stoppi'd  speaking,  he  t(»ok. 
iter  around  the  waist  by  both  arms  and  lifted  her  into  the  air. 
.*^Le  was  not  alarmed  at  this  proceeding,  fDr  she  kn^w  she 
would  come  down  gently,  getting  a  square,  downright  kiss- 
on  the  way.  Never  were  two  persons  belter  satisfied  with 
each  oilier. 

At   Lakeside  there  were  also  chanijccs  and  improvement.^ 
The  garden  was  remodelled,  the  j^inw.v.ls  wore  extended,  and 
80 


468  HANNAH    TUDKSTOlil 

fresh  consignments  of  trees  and  plants  continually  amvcU  frodl 
the  Kochester  nurseries.  Both  Woodbury  and  his  wife 
delighted  in  the  out-door  occupation  which  these  changes  gs  ■  \ 
and  the  spring  deepened  into  summer  before  they  were  aware. 
To  a  thoroughly  cultivated  man,  there  is  no  life  compared  tc 
chat  of  the  country,  with  its  independent. «,  its  healthy  enjoy- 
ments, its  grateful  repose — provided  that  he  is  so  situated  that 
his  intellectual  needs  can  be  satisfied.  Woodbury's  life  in 
Calcutta  had  accustomed  him  to  seek  this  satisfaction  in  him- 
self, or,  at  best,  to  be  content  with  few  friends.  In  Hannah, 
he  had  now  the  eager,  sympathetic  companion  of  his  mind,  uo 
less  than  the  partner  of  his  aflTections.  The  newest  literature 
came  to  him  regularly  from  New  York  and  Boston,  and  there 
was  no  delight  greater  than  to  perceive  how  rapidly  her  tastes 
and  her  intellectual  perceptions  matm'ed  with  the  increase  of 
her  ojiportunities  of  culture. 

The  tender  secret  which  bound  them  so  closely  soothed  her 
heart  for  the  time,  without  relieving  its  need  of  the  expression 
and  the  answer  which  still  fiiiled.  His  watchful  fondness  was 
always  around  her,  folding  her  more  closely  and  warmly,  day 
by  day  ;  but  he  still  seemed  to  assert,  in  her  name,  that  free- 
dom which  her  love  no  longer  demanded — nay,  which  stood 
between  her  and  the  fulfilment  of  her  ideal  union  with  him. 
She  craved  that  uncalculating  passion  which  is  as  ready  to 
ask  as  to  give — the  joy  of  mutual  demand  and  mutual  surren- 
der. The  calm,  deep,  and  untroubled  trust  which  filled  his 
nature  was  not  enough.  Perhaps  love,  she  thought,  in  the 
self  poised,  self-controlled  being  of  man,  takes  this  form;  per 
hajis  it  lies  secure  and  steadfast  below  the  tender  agitations, 
the  passionate  impulses,  the  voiceful  yearnings  which  stir  the 
Boul  of  woman.  If  so,  she  must  be  content';  but  one  thing 
she  must  yet  do,  to  satisfy  the  conscience  of  love.  She  must 
disabuse  liis  mind  of  the  necessity  of  granting  her  that  indo- 
pcndcnce  which  she  had  i^norai>tly  claimed  ;  she  must  confess 
to  him  tlie  truer  consciousness  of  her  woman's  nature;  and — 
it'  her  timid  heart  would  allow — she  must  ouce,  though  ouly 


A   8T0KT    OF   AMERICAiJ    LIFE.  458 

Dnce,  put  in  words  all  the  passionate  devotion  of  her  heart 
for  him. 

The  days  went  by,  the  fresh  splendor  of  the  foliage 
darkened,  the  chasing  billows  of  golden  grain  drifted  away 
and  left  a  strand  of  tawny  stubble  behind,  and  the  emerald 
bunches  on  the  trellises  at  Lakeside  began  to  gather  an 
iniethystine  bloom.  And  the  joy,  and  the  fear,  and  the 
mystery  increased,  and  the  shadow  of  a  coming  fate,  bright 
with  the  freshest  radiance  of  Heaven,  or  dark  with  unimagiued 
desolation — but  which,  no  one  could  guess — lay  upon  the 
household.  Woodbury  had  picked  up  in  the  county  paper, 
published  at  Tiberius,  a  httle  poem  by  Stoddard,  of  wbich 
these  lines  clung  to  his  memory  and  would  not  be  banished : 

"  The  laden  summer  will  give  me 
What  it  never  gave  before, 
Or  take  from  me  wliat  a  thousand 
Summers  can  give  no  more  1" 

Thus,  as  the  approach  of  Death  is  not  an  unminglod  sorroiv, 
the  approach  of  Life  is  not  an  unmingled  joy.  But,  as  we 
rarely  breathe,  even  to  those  we  best  love,  the  fear  that  at 
such  times  haunts  our  hearts,  chased  away  as  soon  as  recog- 
nized, so  to  her  he  was  always  cahn  and  joyfully  confident. 

Sej^tember  came,  and  fiery  touches  of  change  were  seen  on 
the  woods.  The  tuberoses  she  had  planted  in  the  spring 
poured  from  their  creamy  cups  an  intoxicating  dream  of  the 
isles  of  nutmeg-orchards  and  cinnamon-groves ;  the  strong, 
ripe  blooms  of  autumn  lined  the  garden  walks,  and  the  breath 
of  the  imprisoned  wine  dimmed  the  purpte  crystal  of  the 
grapes.  Then,  one  morning,  there  was  a  hushed  gliding  to 
»nd  fro  in  the  mansion  of  Lakeside ;  there  was  anxious  wait- 
ing in  the  shaded  rooms ;  there  were  heart -wrung  prayers, 
as  the  shadow^s  of  the  ditferent  fates  sank  lower  upon  the 
house,  and  fitfully  shifted,  like  the  rapid,  alternate  variations 
of  cloud  and  sunshine  in  a  broken  sky.  Death  stood  by  to 
dispute  the  consummation  of  life;  but,  as  the  evening  dre'w 


AW  HAimAu  tuubstok: 

on,  a  faint,  wailing  cry  of  victory  was  heard,  and  Life  had 
triumphed. 

Woodbury's  strong  nature  was  shaken  to  its  centre,  both 
by  the  horrible  weight  of  the  fears  which  had  been  growing 
ipon  him  throughout  the  day,  and  the  lightning-flash  of  over- 
iv'helming  gladness  which  dispersed  them.  As  he  took  the 
telpless,  scarcely  human  creature  in  his  arms,  and  bent  his 
fir^e  over  it,  his  tears  fell  fast.  He  knelt  beside  the  bed,  and 
held  it  before  the  half-closed  eyes  of  the  mother,  who  lay 
eilent,  pale,  as  if  flung  back,  broken,  from  the  deeps  of  Death. 
The  unfeeling  authority  which  reigned  in  the  chamber  drove 
him  away.  The  utmost  caution,  the  most  profound  repost, 
was  indispensable,  the  physician  said.  All  night  long  he 
watched  in  the  next  room,  slowly  gathering  hope  from  the 
whispered  bulletins  of  the  nurse.  In  the  morning,  he  left  his 
post  for  a  little  while,  but  soon  returned  to  it.  But  a  single 
interview  was  granted  that  day,  and  he  was  forbidden  to 
speak.  lie  could  only  take  his  wife's  hand,  and  look  upon 
the  white,  saintly  beauty  of  her  face.  She  smiled  faintly,  with 
a  look  of  ineffable  love,  which  he  could  not  bear  unmoved,  and 
he  was  forbidden  to  agitate  her. 

Gradually  the  severity  of  the  orders  was  relaxed,  and  he 
was  allowed  to  enter  the  room  occasionally,  in  a  quiet  way, 
and  look  upon  the  unformed  features  of  his  son.  The  mother 
was  slowly  gaining  strength,  and  the  mere  sight  of  hnr  hxkB^ 
band  was  so  evident  a  comfort  to  her  that  it  xjould  not  now 
be  denied.  In  the  silent  looks  they  interchanged  there  was  a 
profounder  language  than  they  had  yet  spoken.  In  him,  the 
strong  agitation  of  the  man's  heart  made  itself  felt  through  thiS" 
mask  of  his  habitual  calm  ;  in  her,  the  woman's  all-yieldnig  love 
iOoufessed  its  existence,  and  pleaded  for  recognition.  Wood- 
bury, too  grateful  for  the  fact  that  the  crisis  of  imminent 
danger  was  slowly  passing  away,  contented  himself  with  these 
voiceless  interviews,  and  forcibly  shut  for  a  while  within  liia 
heait  the  words  of  blessing  and  of  cheer  which  he  longed  t<i 
utter. 


A   STOBT   OF   AM£BICA1)   mfB.  461 

On  the  fifth  day  the  physician  said  to  him :  "  She  is  now 
safe,  with  the  ordinary  precautions,  I  have' perhnps  been  a 
little  over-despotic,  because  I  know  the  value  of  the  Hfe  a1 
Btake.  You  have  been  patient  and  obedient,  and  you  shall 
have  your  reward.  You  may  see  her  as  often  as  you  like,  and 
I  will  allow  you  to  talk,  on  condition  that  you  break  oflf  on 
the  least  appearance  of  fatigue." 

After  his  departure,  Woodbury,  glad  at  heart,  hastened  t« 
his  wife's  chamber.  She  lay  perfectly  still,  and  the  curtains 
were  drawn  to  shield  her  face  from  the  hght.  "  She  is  asleep," 
oaid  the  nurse. 

"  Leave  me  a  w'hile  here,  if  you  please,"  said  he,  "  I  will 
watch  until  she  wakes." 

The  nurse  left  the  room.  He  knelt  beside  the  cradle,  and 
bent  over  the  sleeping  babe,  giving  way,  undisturbed  by  a 
watching  eye,  to  the  blissful  i)ride  of  a  father's  heart.  Pres- 
ently his  eyes  overflowed  with  happy  tears,  and  be  whis- 
pered to  the  unconscious  child :  "  Richard  1  my  son,  my  dar- 
ling!" 

The  babe  stirred  and  gave  out  a  broken  wail  of  waking. 
He  moved  the  cradle  gently,  still  murmuring:  "  Kichai'd,  my 
darling!     God  rnuke  me  worthy  to  possess  tliee  !" 

But  he  was  not  unseen  ;  he  was  not  unheard.  Hannah's 
light  slumber  had  been  dissolved  by  the  magnetism  of  his 
presence,  but  so  gently  that  her  consciousness  of  things,  re- 
turning before  the  awaking  of  the  will,  impressed  her  like  a 
more  distinct  dream.  As  in  a  dream,  through  her  |)artiallY' 
closed  lids,  she  saw  her  husband  kneel  beside  the  cradle.  She 
saw  the  dim  sparkle  of  his  tears,  as  they  fell  upon  the  child  ; 
she  heard  his  soliloquy  of  love  and  gratitude — heard  him  call 
lb:U  child  by  her  father's  name !  Her  mother's  words  flashed 
across  her  mind  with  a  meaning  which  she  had  never  thought 
of  applying  to  her  own  case.  Her  father,  too,  had  wept  over 
his  lirst-born  ;  in  his  heart  passion  had  smouldered  with  in- 
tensest  heat  under  a  deteitful  calm  ;  and  her  mother  had  only 
learned  to  know  liim  \\  hen  the  knnwle  I'^e  c.iiuo  loo  lute.     T« 


462  BAJsnsAn  tbubston  : 

nerself,  that  knowledge  had  come  now :  she  had  canght  oii« 

glimpse  of  her  husband's  heart,  when  he  supposed  that  only 
God's  ear  had  heard  hiin.  In  return  for  that  sacred,  though 
involuntary  confession,  she  would  voluntarily  make  one  as 
sacred.  The  duty  of  a  woman  gave  her  strength  ;  the  dignity 
of  a  mother  gave  her  courage. 

When  the  babe  was  again  lulled  into  quiet,  she  gentlj 
called:  "Maxwell!" 

lie  rose,  came  to  the  bed,  softly  put  his  arms  around  her, 
and  laid  his  lips  to  hers.     "My  dear  wife,"  he  said. 

"  Maxwell,  I  have  seen  your  heart,"  she  whispered ;  "  would 
you  see  mine  ?  Do  you  recollect  what  you  asked  me  that 
afternoon,  in  the  meadows — not  whether  I  loved,  but  whether 
I  could  love  ?  You  have  never  repeated  the  other  question 
since." 

"  There  was  no  need  to  ask,"  said  he  ;  "I  saw  it  answered." 

"My  dear  husband,  do  you  not  know  that  feeling,  in  a 
woman,  must  be  born  through  speech,  and  become  a  living 
joy,  instead  of  lying  as  a  hajipy,  yet  anxious  weight  beneath 
the  heart?  Maxwell,  the  truth  has  been  on  my  tongue  a 
thousand  times,  waiting  for  some  sign  of  encouragement  from 
you ;  but  you  have  been  so  careful  to  keep  the  promise  which 
I  accepted — nay,  almost  exacted,  I  fear — that  you  could  not 
see  what  a  burden  it  had  become  to  me.  You  have  been  too 
just  to  me ;  your  motive  was  generous  and  noble :  I  complain 
of  myself  only  in  having  made  it  necessary.  You  did  right  to 
trust  to  the  natural  development  of  my  nature  through  my 
better  knowledge  of  life ;  but,  oh,  can  you  not  see  that  the 
development  is  reached?  Can  you  not  feel  that  you  arc 
released  from  a  duty  towards  me  which  is  inconsistent  with 
love  ?" 

"Dc  you  release  me  willingly,  my  wife?"  he  cried,  an  eager 
light  coming  into  his  eyes.  "  I  have  always  felt  that  you  were 
carried  to  me  by  a  current  against  wluch  you  struggled.  I 
could  not  resist  the  last  wish  of  your  mother,  though  I  should 
never,  alone,  have  (Init'd  to  hasten  our  union.     I  would  hav« 


A    STORY    OF   AMERICAN    LIFE.  it  I 

iralted — ^  omd  have  given  you  time  to  know  your  heart— tinw 
to  feel  that  the  only  ti'ue  freedom  for  man  or  woman  is  reach- 
ed through  the  willing  submission  of  love." 

"  ignorant  as  I  was,"  she  answered,  "  I  might  never  have 
come  to  that  knowledge.  I  should  have  misunderstood  the 
ubmission,  and  fought  against  it  to  the  last.  Mother  Avas 
ight.  She  knew  me  better  than  I  knew  myself.  Maxwell, 
will  you  take  back  your  promise  of  independence  ?  Will  you 
cease  to  allow  that  cold  spectre  of  justice  to  come  between 
our  hearts?" 

"  Tell  me  why  you  ask  it  ?"  said  he. 

"  Because  I  love  you !  Because  the  dream  whose  hopeless- 
ness made  my  heart  sick  has  taicen  your  features,  and  is  no  more 
a  dream,  but  a  blessed,  blessed  truth  !  Ask  yourself  what  that 
means,  and  you  will  understand  me.  If  you  but  knew  how  I 
have  pined  to  discover  your  wish,  in  order  that  I  might  follow 
it !  You  have  denied  me  the  holiest  joy  of  love — the  joy  of 
sacrifice.  As  you  have  done  it  for  my  sake,  so  for  my  sake 
abandon  the  unfair  obligation.  Think  what  you  would  most 
desire  to  receive  from  the  woman  you  love,  and  demand  that 
of  me !" 

"  My  darling,  I  have  waited  for  this  hour,  but  I  could  not 
seem  to  prematurely  hasten  it.  I  have  held  back  my  arms 
when  they  would  have  clasped  you ;  I  have  turned  away  my 
eyes,  lest  they  might  confuse  you  by  some  involuntary  attrac- 
tion ;  I  have  been  content  with  silence,  les.,  the  voice  of  my  love 
might  have  seemed  to  urge  the  surrender  which  your  heart 
must  first  suggest.  Do  you  forgive  me,  now,  for  the  pitiless 
passion  with  which  I  stormed  you  ?" 

"There  is  your  forgiveness,"  she  murmured,  through  hcf 
fears,  pointing  to  the  cradle. 

ITc  tenderly  lifted  the  sleeping  babe,  and  laid  it  upon  hei 
bosom.  Then  he  knelt  down  at  the  bed,  and  bent  his  face 
apon  the  ])ilIow,  beside  her  own.  "  Darling,"  he  whispered,  "1 
accept  all  that  you  give:  I  take  the  full  measure  of  your  love, 
in  its  sacred  integrity.      W  any  question  of  our  mutual  rigbtf 


46'4  iiANNAii   iiiiu.vroJ*. 

remain,  I  lay  it  in  these  precious  little  hands,  warm  with  th« 
new  life  m  which  our  beings  have  become  one." 

"  And  they  will  forever  lead  me  back  to  the  tnie  path,  if  ' 
ihorJtl  scuietimes  wander  from  it,"  was  her  answer. 


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